 
# **Contents**

Praise for the God in the Clear Rock

Title Page

The God in the Clear Rock - inside cover ebook edition

Copyright Smashwords

eBook Edition 3

A Quick Note from the Author

Ch 1 - 917 BC – Olmec Gulf Lowlands, Central America

Ch 2 - 1544 AD – Mayan Yucatan, Central America

Ch 3 - December 19, 2012 AD – 12:32 PM, Middle of the Atlantic Ocean - 15:32 GMT

Ch 4 - December 19, 2012 AD – 12:46 PM, 9 Miles Northwest of Moondance - 15:46 GMT

Ch 5 - December 19, 2012 AD - 12:53 PM, Middle of the Atlantic Ocean - 15:53 GMT

Ch 6 - 1989 AD – Guatemala, Central America

Ch 7 - December 19, 2012 AD - 9:48 AM, 2,600 Miles West of the Moondance - 15:48 GMT

Ch 8 - 1544 AD – Mayan Yucatan, Central America

Ch 9 - December 19, 2012 AD – 11:19 AM, Mayan Archeological Dig, Yucatan - 17:19 GMT

Ch 10 - April 11, 1995 AD – 10:42 AM Unknown Testing Location, USA

Ch 11 - December 19, 2012 AD – 2:31 PM, Middle of the Atlantic Ocean - 17:31 GMT

Ch 12 - December 19, 2012 AD – 12:59 PM, Mayan Archeological Dig, Yucatan - 18:59 GMT

Ch 13 - December 19, 2012 AD – 4:22 PM, Middle of the Atlantic Ocean - 19:22 GMT

Ch 14 - April 11, 1995 AD – 11:14 AM, Unknown Testing Location, USA

Ch 15 - December 19, 2012 AD – 5:46 PM, Middle of the Atlantic Ocean - 20:46 GMT

Ch 16 - October 2, 2000 AD – 8:01 AM, University of Miami, Florida, USA

Ch 17 - December 19, 2012 – 3:07 PM, Mayan Archeological Dig, Yucatan - 21:07 GMT

Ch 18 - February 16, 2008 AD – 1:27 PM, NSA Quantum Command Center

Ch 19 - December 19, 2012 AD – 7:32 PM, Aboard the Moondance - 22:32 GMT

Ch 20 - December 19, 2012 – 4:35 PM, Mayan Archeological Dig, Yucatan - 22:35 GMT

Ch 21 - March 12, 2008 AD – 9:24 AM, NSA Quantum Command Center

Ch 22 - December 19, 2012 AD – 8:39 PM, Aboard the Moondance - 23:39 GMT

Ch 23 - December 19, 2012 AD – 5:41 PM, Airport at Chichen Itza, Yucatan 23:41 GMT

Ch 24 - December 19, 2012 AD – 5:59 PM Aboard Jay-L's Jet – 23:59 GMT

Prologue

Ch 25 - 78,000 Years Ago

(to be continued)

Preview - The Hole in the Magic Shield - Book 2

ending material

Dedication

Acknowledgements

About the Author
Praise for The God in the Clear Rock

"Seriously one of the greatest things I've ever read."

Wil Wheaton, actor and author

"A keeper! I read four or more books a week and only occasionally will I get pulled into the rest of the series but this one has done it. Really good writing and a great story with real characters. Can't wait to see what happens."

John H. Scarbrough, Amazon reviewer

"Fascinating action adventure thriller. How much of life is preordained? Who is really in charge? Just when you think you have it figured out, everything changes! You will have difficulty putting this one down."

ItsWindy, Amazon reviewer

"I have three favorite fictional characters... Harry Dresden from Jim Butcher's The Dresden Files, Aloysius Pendergast from Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child's Relic series, and Jay-L Farnsworth from this series."

Trekbette, Amazon reviewer

"A brilliant Mind Unleashed! From the very beginning stages of this work, you are enmeshed by a clear, crisp mind that delivers highly engaging characters and plot lines. And from chapter to chapter, the building anticipation of connecting the seemingly frenetic time lines together, breeds the climactic ending with the inevitable feeling of wanting... MORE!"

Topological-X, Amazon reviewer

**The God in the Clear Rock**

Part One of the SKY FIRE Series

by:

Lucian Randolph

© 2012
In 50 hours, the world as we know it will end...

Like a celestial alarm clock, the sun is about to enter a cycle of giant storms that will decimate life on Earth and destroy our modern civilization. It's happened before, but it was long before humans even had writing.

Now it will occur again in 50 hours.

Amid this imminent catastrophe is the God in the Clear Rock, a mysterious presence influential throughout the history of ancient man on the American continents.

And she has a secret.

Following stories from history, fast-paced scenes jump across centuries and millennia of time as the mystery of the God in the Clear Rock deepens. Coming together over years, unforgettable characters and epic events throughout the history of man unknowingly countdown in a race against the sun.

\- - - - - - - -

THE GOD IN THE CLEAR ROCK has everything you could want in an epic sci-fi story; ancient civilizations, giant humans, advanced technology, military secrets, artificial intelligence, and a timeline that covers 78 millennia. Engaging, imaginative, and believable writing will drag you into the intrigue and drama as it begins to unfold across the planet.

First in a six-book series covering the 50 hour countdown, THE GOD IN THE CLEAR ROCK presents the initial eight-and-a-half hours. But 78,000 years of brutal history and adventure lead up to this first exciting book. The story blends the hour-by-hour style of the TV drama '24' and the intelligent storytelling of Asimov with the twisted plots of George R.R. Martin; the result is a page turner you can't put down.

It's filled with science, technology, history and adventure, plus a sci-fi twist on a cliff-hanger ending that will have fans jumping into the second book in the series, THE HOLE IN THE MAGIC SHIELD (available now).
The God in the Clear Rock

Lucian Randolph

Published by McDonald Press at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 Lucian Randolph

eBook Edition 3

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9836091-0-0

Book design by: McPress

Cover design by: Marie Relta

Cover Image Composition by: Marie Relta

Copyright © 2012, Marie Relta

Image Credits: www.canstockphoto.com

Earth with Rising Sun Illustration background

File Id csp1257766 - Uploaded by: Paul Paladin 10/5/2008

Ancient mayan pyramid in Chichen-Itza, Mexico

File Id csp3397843 - Uploaded by: dimol 3/23/2010

Caucasian young nude woman partially submerged in water lying on back on rock

File Id csp1503497 - Uploaded by: iofoto 2/14/2009

Diamond series; isolated 3d jewelry series

File Id csp3044458 - Uploaded by: sellingpix 1/20/2010
eBook Edition: 3

SKY FIRE

An Action Science Fiction Series

by Lucian Randolph

Available now at all major online booksellers.

Part One - THE GOD IN THE CLEAR ROCK

Part Two - THE HOLE IN THE MAGIC SHIELD

Part Three - THE EMPTY EGGS OF BURNING LIGHT

Part Four - THE WRATH OF THE INVISIBLE SWORD

Part Five - THE FINAL FIRE OF BRIGHT SKIES

And Coming Soon...

Part Six (the finale) - THE SEED OF THE SUN'S HEART

Find the latest information about Lucian at:

LucianRandolph.com

Or follow Lucian on Twitter:

<https://twitter.com/LucianRandolph>
A Quick Note from the Author

This story is based on actual history, real science, and existing or developing technology; plus a little bit of make-believe thrown in for spice. My intention is to take you on a journey that feels real and then to blend that journey into a deeply twisted fast-paced story that covers a long period of history. Almost all of the past events described in the book actually occurred, and the same percentage of the technology and science in the book is real or being developed. Vastly more of everything in the story is real rather than not. I'll let you figure out which parts are which. And as the saying is true, "you write what you know," there is also a whole lot of me in here. I'll let you guess on that one, too.

Almost all of the characters are amalgams of real people that I have known or have met personally, and many of the conversations are based on actual dialogue that I have personally heard or been part of. Most of the political and military entities and processes mentioned are based on real-life counterparts. Part of the process of making an action adventure story that follows real history is to create characters and organizations that feel like real life people and groups, including known players from the news. A thinly veiled intentional sheen of identity is spread over a completely fictionalized character or group in these cases. My characters are meant to look like actual players in modern history, but their actions and personalities are my very own. For those who may be offended by proxy, rest assured that, in almost every instance, I know the person I'm making into a character; even the famous ones. I asked; they aren't offended.

This is a story that has been trying to come out of me for a while. It's turned into a very long and intricate tale of epic proportion, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I should give you fair warning now, however. Like serials from long ago, each book ends in a cliff-hanger. There aren't going to be many conclusions to hardly any of the storylines until the last book in the series. I figure, if you want to know how this twisted adventure ends, you'll stick around and follow the story.

Sincerely,

Lucian Randolph

PS - Be sure to pay close attention to the opening time label and location description at the beginning of each chapter. This book covers the initial seventeen-and-a-half hours of the 50 hour and 46 minute countdown, and the modern storyline unfolds chronologically. All of the current storyline chapters are marked in a Greenwich Mean Time or GMT and these are the basis of the fifty hour countdown. This is a standard time that is universal across the globe and makes it easy to follow current events as they unfold in different time zones but only minutes apart.
Chapter 1

TIME REMAINING: 2,929 YEARS

LOCATION: OLMEC GULF LOWLANDS,

CENTRAL AMERICA

YEAR (CURRENT ERA): 917 BCE

• • • • •

The light of the full moon coming over the horizon glinted off the point of the long Holy Blade as it swung high into the air and down into the sleeping man's chest. Again and again the blade swung up and down. Blood spattered everywhere, covering the Royal bed and the attacker with misty red spots.

When he stopped, the only noise was his heavy breathing, and the soft but steady sound of dripping as a dark red pool began to run onto the floor from the bloody and still body.

Then the assailant turned and ran out of the Royal chamber.

When he got outside the King's abode, six young men were waiting for him. As he quickly walked up to them, they saw the blood covering their older brother. He stopped beside the group of siblings, and the bright moonlight reflected off the deep red stains covering his murderous blade. The closest brother to him spoke in a whisper.

"Is he..."

"It is done. We cannot stop now. You know what we must do. Did you bring the supplies?"

The oldest set of twin brothers looked at him with eyes that were perfectly synchronized and they answered in unison.

"Yes. We have them."

The twin on the right held up several coils of ropes with curved metal ends like grappling hooks. "I have the ropes."

His oldest brother looked at him hard. "Are they long enough? The ropes must reach the top or we cannot pull it over."

The twin nodded. "I have measured them myself."

Then his identical twin brother held out his arm. "And I have the blankets."

"Good. Remember, once it is free from the cage, you must not touch it with your bare hands. Cover it with the blankets before you get too close."

Both of the twins nodded. The oldest brother allowed himself a small smile. Then he turned to the other four young men.

His youngest brothers were also two sets of twins. According to their father, all twins were created by their God. Their God must have favored their father a lot because he only sired twins; four pairs to be exact. Unlike the oldest set of his young twin brothers, who were twenty-two, the youngest four were still teenagers at nineteen and sixteen. All the sets of twins were only three years apart, which according to their father was also ordained by their God. The oldest brother was twenty five, but his twin had died in birth. This made him the natural leader of his siblings, but left him with a hole in his life that he could not fill.

Until tonight.

When he looked at the four youngest members of his personal raiding party, they all held out their arms. Each of them was holding a long handled spade-like shovel used for digging in one hand. In their other hand, they each held a tall wooden pole with a long, thick metal rod on one end. After the inspection, the oldest brother turned and headed across the plaza then out away from the Royal City. The three sets of twins followed like a cloned entourage. They moved across the valley in silence and then crossed into the section of rocks that led up to the forbidden temple in the mountains. Except during ceremonies, no one but the King was allowed up here. Each of them knew the punishment for trespassing here without the King's permission and escort. But they also knew there would be no punishment tonight; only success or death.

A few minutes later, they were approaching the steeple shaped cage in the large open rocky field near the steep drop-off edge of the mountaintop. Only the oldest brother had ever been here and seen it in person. The other six were awestruck; stopping and staring with wide eyes. It was beyond anything they had imagined about the fabled home of the God of their people.

The cage was made of iron strips that had been crossed over and under each other in a weaving pattern to create a tall pyramid shaped building made of metal. It resembled a gigantic cage built like a thin steeple. Layers of palm oil had been wiped on and then hand buffed into the interior and exterior surface of the cage twice weekly for millennia; polishing the metal to an almost mirrored smoothness. And it was the King himself, and his ancestors before him, who did this manual labor for his God.

But not any more.

The moon was high overhead, and the thick bars of iron glistened in the bright lunar light like a wireframe drawing done in luminescent ink. Inside the metal building, a short set of bars on the ground near the back wall held a small metal topped pedestal and were connected to the wall.

As they approached the temple, a light started emanating from on top of the pedestal; glowing like a miniature sun in the middle of the cage and making the entire temple suddenly seem alive.

The God of the Olmec knew they were here.

• • •

Like many lost ancient cultures, the Meso-Americans called the Olmec received that name long after they disappeared from the Earth.

The Olmec people were the primitive source genome for all of the great civilizations that followed on the North and South American continents and the strip of land between them. Known among the following great dynasties of the central and southern highlands of Meso-America as the 'Old Ones,' they came into existence over a thousand years before Alexander the Great and rose to prominence during the New Kingdom period of Egyptian Pharaonic dynasties. At the pinnacle of Olmec civilization, all of Europe was still equestrian-based small kingdoms.

They called themselves by a name that is long lost to the dust of time. But their name for themselves meant 'Masters of the Red Rock.'

And masters they were. The red rock they named themselves for was iron ore. And when the rest of the world was banging iron into steel for blades in swords and knives, the Olmec had a different purpose. With only bronze age tools, they perfected the process for smelting and hardening iron. Using techniques handed down to them from unknown forefathers, the Olmec people developed the ironworking skills they would use to rise to absolute dominance in the early Meso-American world.

They were the first to use metal chisels to carve jade, which was the holiest of stones to them. These new tools allowed the Olmec artists to become the undisputed champions in the ancient New World art field. No later culture was ever able to equal the Olmec level of jade art.

But jade and iron were not the only arts the Olmec mastered. In 1967, Michael Coe found a magnet at San Lorenzo carved in the form of an oblong bar with a groove from the period of 1,000 BC. When Coe tested his hypothesis that this was a crude magnetic compass, which had been fashioned 1,000 years before the Chinese are credited with inventing such a device, he found he was right.

And the Olmec used these compasses to build incredible engineering feats. One of many complex drainage systems in Olmec territory was excavated that measured over five-hundred-and-fifty feet long with an almost perfect two-percent grade from east to west. Subsidiary lines stretched off the main tunnel for almost one-hundred feet in various places. The entire system was made from thirty tons of basalt rock that was quarried and hauled more than thirty-five miles to the final location. Stone covers had been fashioned to cover the channel, which ran for over a quarter of a mile in a perfectly straight line.

Modern scientists and archaeologists have no clue as to the purpose or function of this elaborate system of fire-proof rock flumes. But a modern glassmaker would recognize the purpose in an instant if they saw the structure as it was being used in the millennia before the Julian calendar was born. The technique for making perfect plate-glass sheets is not a product of the twentieth century after all. And the process of mirroring them isn't, either. The Olmec people had mastered techniques of manufacturing that would not be seen again for two and three quarters millennia.

But the Olmec's greatest achievement was in the art of iron. And it was the foundation of all the other arts and sciences they mastered. It was not only fundamental to their society, it was used daily by everyone from the peasantry to the landholding royalty. However, the real Olmec use for iron has remained unknown to this day by modern scholars. It has been well established that the ancient race of Central Americans were the first to develop writing and agriculture in this hemisphere. What was not known was how they were related and how the Olmec used their mastery of iron to achieve these high-points of social development.

The first was agriculture. The Olmec culture sprang into existence from a more ancient group that had inhabited the same area for many millennia. At the very bottom crook of the Gulf of Mexico, protected by the Yucatan peninsula on one side and the main Central American landmass on the other side, was the enormous river delta of the Coatzacoalcos river system. A massive drainage system for the southern end of the mountainous ridge that ran the length of North America and down through Mexico, it consisted of dozens of large tributaries and mangrove swamps connected to isolated lagoons and fresh-water flood plains.

Easily equal to the Nile river of Egypt, the annual rainfall would sometimes top one-hundred inches per year. Each season, the dozens of feeder rivers would flood twenty feet into the lowlands. But when the waters receded, they left behind a gift. Unlike agricultural techniques employed in less fertile areas, this land did not have to be cleared. The river would do it for you. Most importantly, the land did not have to lie fallow after a couple of seasons in order to recuperate from farming. Every year, the rains would deliver the soil and fertilizer to ensure a bountiful crop.

The Olmec used their skill at working iron to make shovels for planting and eventually a harvesting blade. Almost identical to the modern machete, this tool was what allowed the tribal leaders, who eventually staked ownership of these fertile plains, to unify and consolidate the various villages under their rule. Food for all ensured a compliant and satisfied population. In addition to harvesting, the machete design was the only useful tool for holding back the encroaching jungle.

The other principal use of iron was for writing. The Olmec Priests pounded and flattened iron plates into thin sheets. Then using preformed punches with uniform and fixed symbols, the art of writing in glyphs became widespread. These paper thin iron sheets were used to teach and pass on the skills the Olmec had accumulated over the centuries. And when rubbed with palm oil over generations, they lasted much better than any form of paper or papyrus in the wet and humid jungles. Iron picks, hammers, and chisels were used to increase the production of iron ore from mines the Olmec began working year round. Complex food distribution systems and ore transportation processes were added to new smelting and purifying centers, which the Olmec began to build across the fertile Southern Gulf lowlands.

And iron was what the Olmec traded to get their precious jade. There were no naturally occurring deposits of jade within the Olmec territories. All of it came from somewhere else, and there was a massive quantity of Olmec jade.

For almost a thousand years, this highly structured society existed in the fertile land of 'The Iron Masters.'

And finally, the Olmec had one more use for iron that is still unknown today.

It was to serve their God.

For it was their God to which the Olmec owed all that they knew. The gifts of language, writing, agriculture and, most importantly, the gift of the mastery of the holy red stone, all came from the deity of the Olmec. Every succeeding New World culture owed these gifts to the Olmec people, but they owed them to the God that spoke from the burning bright light. The God that resided in the iron-cage, which was built to house and honor her by long lost forefathers. The God to whom they delivered the fine black powder made from the rock that burns. The God who had taught them to build pyramids in the jungle.

And the God who taught them to make the mirrors.

Modern scientists have no idea what the mirrors were for. Olmec art seemed to suggest that the ultra-polished concave disks of iron were worn as ornamentation around the necks of rulers. But that was not their purpose. The disks were all fashioned in the same location and over the same period of time. Modern archaeologists have determined the surviving examples of these enigmas of the ancient New World were built by the Olmec, but they readily admit they have no idea how it was actually done. Microscopic analysis reveals no signs of abrasives, yet the level of concave exactness and polish approaches perfection.

Near the end of the height of the Olmec civilization, the mirrors were all held in the same location by the greatest of the Olmec Kings. For twenty-nine generations, only the current ruling King was privileged to communicate with their God. And what the God commanded, the Kings never dared to disobey. Only in hushed whispers would anyone even speak of the rumored legends of the awesome displays of rage and power their God had rained down on the disobedient in the millennia since she was discovered in the clear rock.

Over those same millennia, their God had provided for the obedient.

Ancient New World Kings and Kingdoms rose and fell on the advice of the God in the Clear Rock.

And the number of those who knew of her true existence was never more than one teacher and one student.

Until now.

• • •

The last Great King the Olmec people would ever know had followed the orders of his God exactly. He had continued the large pyramid temple construction far away to the east, where the old ones from whom the Olmec sprung had begun millennia earlier. He had taught his people the skills of finding the red stone and removing it from the ground. His priests had used the iron sheets to spread knowledge and the art of writing across the domain of his people. They constructed the river-of-fire and made the magic flat stones that reflected the world. And his people were organized, fed, and cared for thanks to the tools, skills, and knowledge he passed on from his God about the plants that provided life from the Earth.

He had been a loyal and loving servant to his God.

So as the oldest of his seven sons murdered him while he slept, the last thought in his mind, when it snapped awake upon the first stab from the Holy Iron Blade, was that his God would reward him now that he would be joining her inside the magic stone; just as each of the former Kings before him had done.

The Great Olmec King would never know of the civil war that his untimely and incestuous murder would precipitate.

He would not witness the Royal treasure room being raided by brothers who fought and killed each other for their share of their dead father's Kingdom.

He could not stop the mirrored disks from being divided up like spoils of some home-based war and then passed on by little tyrants as signs of the power of some long forgotten deity.

He was not there as the thick sheets of perfectly flat mirror were shattered over the iron-cage that once held his God.

Then that same iron-cage, which had been maintained and repaired by the Olmec for a thousand years before the time of Cleopatra, was toppled over and thrown into a deep hole along with the mountains of jade carvings made by the artisans of his people in honor of their beautiful God.

And finally, the clear slab of rock that held the voice and image of the Olmec God was also thrown into the hole. As dirt was thrown on top of the crystal-clear tablet of holy knowledge wrapped in dark blankets, a faint light shone briefly through the thick fabric. It continued to barely shine out past the first thin layer of dirt that landed on the bundle of abandoned religion. Then another mound of dirt landed on the blanket, and the God of the Olmec people was gone from the light of day.

As a whole nation and as a people, the Olmec would disappear within twenty-five years.

Small little kingdoms, branched off from the five sons who survived the assassination of the Great King, would still inhabit some of the grandest of the Olmec cities for the next six-hundred years or so. But thanks to the systematic destruction of the remains of their empire by the murderous sons of the last Great King of the Olmec, only the mass graves of jade art would remain as proof they were ever here.

The people known as the Masters of Iron were gone.

But neither the knowledge nor the God of the Olmec would stay gone.

It takes about three generations to forget. Individuals with direct knowledge and memory will pass it on to their children and their grandchildren. After that, memories fade and stories are lost.

Barely more than two generations would pass before the grave of the abandoned God would be robbed.

And the cycle of teaching and building would begin, again.

Although the rampage of the royal siblings led to the destruction and abandonment of everything their forefathers built and held dear and holy, the only thing ever taken from the hundreds of buried treasure stores of jade and Olmec art was the large crystal-clear tablet-shaped Stone of God.

Everything else was left where it lay in the mud.

All of the priceless and holy jade art, and all of the thin written iron sheets were left and reburied in the ground.

The magnificent iron cage, which was as large as a temple room, was left buried in the giant pit where it was thrown after being destroyed by the five brothers of sin that survived the initial military-style coup devised by their oldest sibling.

Over 2,850 years later when the site was excavated by Matthew Stirling, the 782 pieces of jade taken from this one hole were the only thing remaining.

All of the iron sheets, which contained the knowledge the Olmec had accumulated and passed on for twenty-nine generations, were only a dark-brown stain in the dirt, that was washed off of the jade treasures surrounding them. Even the plastic-like coating the Olmec had developed to preserve the iron Plates of Knowledge for the last hundred years of their existence could not withstand the ravages of time in a wet earth grave.

And the incredible workmanship that had been added to the majestic iron cage over the one-thousand years of their patronage was eventually lost to time and history as the Earth reclaimed its mineral child in irreversible and unstoppable chemical decomposition.

Only the jade treasure hoards of the great Olmec people and the God in the Clear Rock survived for long in the deep, dank holes.

And the jade did not matter to the people who dug up the God in the Clear Rock...
Chapter 2

TIME REMAINING: 468 YEARS

LOCATION:

CENTRAL AMERICA, MAYAN YUCATAN

YEAR (CURRENT ERA): 1544 AD

• • • • •

"Hurry... Follow me."

The larger boy slipped around the narrow ledge like his bare feet were glued to the stone. Behind him, the other young boy matched him step for step. As they moved farther from where they climbed up, the mound of stones they used as a ramp began to angle down, leaving them nearly twenty feet above the floor. They scurried along the small one foot wide ledge protruding from the solid wall in darkness, as the light began to fall off quickly from the torches they left near the top of the rock pile behind them.

Méké and Quatze knew that what they were doing was forbidden. But they were both young boys, and they were also cousins. Méké was thirteen and had been a Priest-in-training for over two years. Quatze was only eleven, but the two boys had grown up together in the mining village near the red rock mountains, six days from here. Their fathers were brothers who worked together extracting iron from the deep mines. All of the miners and their families were well cared for and happy to do the holy work of taking the red rock from the earth. The boys had played together, chasing each other and climbing through the mountains and jungles, since they both were able to walk. When Quatze arrived as a newly initiated Priest-in-training, it didn't take long for the boys to begin secret outings together, just like they would do when they lived back at their mining village.

Quatze stopped behind his older cousin at the mouth of what appeared to be a perfectly round tunnel into the wall of the pyramid. It was easily wide enough for the larger boy to crawl into headfirst. As soon as Méké shimmied into the hole and disappeared, Quatze quickly turned and looked back to make sure no one had entered the huge lower chamber after them. Then he slipped into the tunnel behind his cousin. They crawled up at a slight angle for about ten meters then the strange tube through the rock ended. But it didn't end in a stone wall. Instead, as Quatze looked past Méké, he could see a reflection of the blue sky and clouds from outside.

His cousin flattened himself up against the side of the tunnel to let Quatze move beside him and see up close. As he climbed in beside Méké, Quatze could see the large diameter flat mirror embedded into the stone at the perfect angle to reflect into the upper part of the tunnel and out the side of the giant pyramid. Quatze had never seen anything like the large, polished mirror. He reached forward and held his small hand over the shiny surface, which reflected his brown skin perfectly. Before Quatze could get over his amazement, Méké grabbed his hand and pulled it back.

"Don't touch it. If it is marked, they will know."

Quatze turned and faced his cousin as they laid side by side.

"What are they for?" Quatze was baffled. This was the fourth tunnel they had explored down here. And all of them had the same type of shiny rock that reflects the sky.

"I do not know. But I have seen where they come from. There is a room with many of them. They are very old."

"Is it here, in the Pyramid of Life?" Quatze still could not believe he was inside the fabled pyramid here in the holiest of temple cities. And the pyramid was more amazing and grand than anything Quatze had ever imagined. He wondered if he would ever be able to tell his father he knew where the red rocks went when they finished getting them out of the ground. He and Méké had just climbed up one of the massive piles of ore at the very bottom of the pyramid in a room that was about to be sealed off with a wall. Méké had also shown him the many places around the room that held the iron bowl mirrors against the walls. Everywhere Quatze looked on his stealthy tour with his cousin, he saw strange shaped pieces of metal, which protruded from the walls of the pyramid or extended from section to section in deep lines embedded into the stone structure. The entire room was a mystery to the young boy. In fact, Quatze had no idea what most of the things he'd seen here in the temple city were actually for.

The two boys made their way back down to the bottom floor then climbed through the small opening still left in the hidden wall and out of the pyramid as quietly as a pair of mice. When they wound their way back up to the surface and slipped by the guards out front of the mezzanine opening, they both headed around the outside of the layered structure. From there, they made their way to the upper section while still on the backside of the pyramid and away from anyone who might see them from down on the large courtyard. After a few more minutes of climbing, Méké slid down onto his belly and crawled forward to the edge of the very top section of the grand pyramid. From this perspective, the entire mountaintop complex was visible. Quatze slipped in beside him, and their little heads peeked out like a pair of owls surveying a field of mice from the top of the tallest pyramid for hundreds of miles.

Méké pointed to a smaller pyramid at the far end of the courtyard. Quatze knew what the building was. Méké smiled at him with a toothy teenage grin that glowed in the light as the sun dropped farther toward the western horizon, and the sky began to turn orange from distant clouds. Quatze could see the mischief in his older cousin's eyes before he even spoke.

"That is where the stones that reflect the world come from. Do you want to see?"

"Can we see it now?"

Méké shook his head. "No. We must wait until they have finished with the wall below. Then the temple room will be less guarded."

Both boys continued to watch the courtyard below the gigantic Pyramid of Life as the sun baked into their little bodies.

Although the Mayan culture built many pyramids throughout their territory, the Pyramid of Life was part of the most holy of Mayan temple complexes and sat on top of one of the highest mountains in the region. Much of the step-sided pyramid structure was built upon over millennia. A massive courtyard plaza held the other buildings in the temple city. A second smaller pyramid was on the opposite end from the Pyramid of Life, and the entire mountain ridge that the temple plaza sat upon was actually a gigantic earthworks project begun almost eleven thousand years earlier, in the ninth millennia, BC.

But in this time, the temple complex was the most wondrous and mysterious place that the young priest initiate, Quatze, had ever seen. As the two boys watched, the group of stone workers that were charged with finishing the hidden wall below began to gather together at the base of the grand pyramid. Behind those men, the complex began to come back to life after the midday break from the heat. Quatze and Méké silently slid away from the edge and quickly made their way back down to the ground. As they came out from the side of the pyramid, they smiled at each other then took off running for their duties. It would be weeks later before the two boys could find the boredom and free time to complete their planned visit to the smaller pyramid.

• • •

When the day finally arrived, Méké came and got Quatze while the others were all taking the afternoon break, just like before. They made their way around the outside of the complex and came up from behind the smaller pyramid. Then the boys crawled up the outside of the stone structure, keeping low to stay out of sight of anyone still moving around in the courtyard. When they made it up to the layer above the opening, they started moving around to the side. As they got to the corner of the stone precipice and peeked down, they saw that the two mezzanine guards had retreated down the front steps and over to the shaded building next door to get out of the hot sun.

Méké quickly dropped over the ledge and landed silently on his bare feet near the side of the opening into the pyramid. Quatze joined him a moment later, making no more sound than a rustling leaf. Then the two boys slipped into the front of the entryway and ran down the stairs into the darkness.

When they got to the bottom of the first layer, Quatze's eyes had not yet adjusted, and he stumbled behind his cousin; dragging his toes across the stone before his vision cleared. Méké grabbed him by the hand and started to pull Quatze behind him as he jogged silently into the darkness. After a couple of minutes of running through a maze of corridors, Méké slowed and rounded a final corner. Then he stepped in front of a corbeled doorway to a small room. But Quatze suddenly pulled his hand out of his cousin's grip and slid to a stop on his bare feet.

"Wait... what about the rules?"

Quatze stood in the corridor just outside the forbidden room. He was still excited, but he suddenly had second thoughts. There were serious rules about this room.

The thought of rules made Quatze think of his father. He missed his family, but he mostly missed his father. Quatze had been looking forward to joining his brothers and father at the mine when he was old enough in a few years. But then the Priests came to the mines one day, and before he knew what was happening, he was here in the holiest of temple cities; just like what happened to his cousin two years earlier.

Méké snapped around and cupped his hand over the younger boy's mouth before he could make another sound.

"No talking..." he softly whispered as he quickly looked around to see if anyone who was still in the pyramid heard them.

When he was sure his companion wouldn't speak again, Méké grabbed Quatze by the wrist and silently dragged him into the doorway. The interior of the plain-walled temple room that was reserved only for the High-Council of Priests was lit by just two candle-torches.

As the two black-haired boys crept quietly to the rear of the somber and simple chamber, the Box was sitting against the back wall on a pedestal about a meter high. Except during ceremonies and when consulted by the High-Council, the Mayan Priests had strict orders never to open the Box, under any circumstances.

But Méké and his cousin, Quatze, weren't Priests; not yet.

Méké took the closest torch from the wall and handed it to his younger accomplice. Then he pushed Quatze over to the side of the pedestal. Méké barely hesitated as he lifted the intricately carved wooden top smoothly off the bottom of the solid mahogany container and set it on the side of the table-sized pedestal. He looked back at Quatze, then pulled the beautiful colored cloth aside. Quatze instinctively stepped closer to see, almost dropping the torch. But he caught it quickly with two hands and carefully held it next to the holy relic.

Inside the dark wooden case, light reflected off the smooth, glassy surface. Small grooves of writing glowed with tiny prisms of light from the torch, which was now only inches from its surface. Rainbow colored reflections seemed to shimmer and twinkle even in the dim orange glow from the open flame. The clear, glassy material itself was almost iridescent. Both boys stared with wide-open eyes and slightly open mouths at the mysterious spectacle before them.

Quatze had never seen anything like it. Even Méké was showing respect as he slowly leaned in and stared closely at the strange, clear piece of rock. Quatze wanted to touch it, but he was too in awe to move. Finally, he pulled his eyes off the clear Rock of God and slowly turned toward his cousin.

"Can I tuhh—"

Before he could finish whispering his question, screams started to come from the tunnel entrance outside.

Caught with their hands in the most holy of cookie jars, neither Quatze nor Méké knew what to do. They stood looking at each other; too frightened to move; unable to even breathe. Suddenly, the noise from the approaching screams burst into the room. It was the Head Priest and most of the members of the High-Council. Méké and Quatze knew the punishment for this transgression was death, but they were still paralyzed with fear. They simply watched with terrified eyes as the massive Head Priest charged across the room directly at them. Like two animals frozen in a spotlight, neither child moved a muscle as the enormous man came stampeding into their personal space and then roughly shoved them out of the way.

The Head Priest didn't even acknowledge their presence as he grabbed the Box and shoved the top back over the clear rock plate. Then he and the throng of Priests turned and ran out of the temple chamber, leaving the trembling boys shaking and alone in the now dark room. Méké looked down and saw a puddle under his legs at the same moment he felt his bladder finish releasing. Quatze stared into the darkness and was thinking of his father in his state of shock. He wished he had never left his family back in the mining village.

Neither boy would ever see their families, again.

• • •

The Head Priest didn't slow down when he reached the surface of the complex from the subterranean room in the smaller pyramid. When he got outside and looked at the courtyard, he found pandemonium. Spanish Conquistadors were riding through the plaza on horseback and in armor. Their swords were swinging wildly at anything that moved. Old men, women, and children were all being chopped down by the stampeding filthy mercenaries. Raiding parties of long-haired Spaniards were roaming through temple rooms looting for gold and gems. As he watched the attack, the Head Priest knew he was right to accelerate the finish of the secret temple room deep below the monstrous Pyramid of Life.

He also knew what he had to do right this moment.

The High-Priest began running toward the huge pyramid on the other end of the plaza with the beautiful carved Box tucked under his gigantic arm.

The hulking man moved quickly for someone with the mass he carried. The muscles in his enormous legs pumped full of blood with each of his lightening fast strides across the wide expanse of the center courtyard. When he approached the front of the step-sided pyramid, a mounted Conquistador reared up on his horse in front of him. Before the Priest could slow down, two dozen Royal Guardsmen of the Warrior Priesthood rushed out from the temple pyramid opening below the towering second layer, four stories above the plaza floor. While the machete bearing protectors of the High-Priest leapt down the stone stepped structure, the High-Priest dodged the front hooves of the Conquistador's steed. As he took off up the steps, spanning five at a time, he almost missed the desperate swing of the frustrated invader from Spain.

But he didn't.

The tip of the sword of the Conquistador swung over the top of the exposed upper shoulder of the Priest, slicing open his jugular with a clean cut. The Priest made four more leaping bounds up the side of the pyramid before the blood began gushing out of his neck.

The bulk of the Royal Guard passed him and descended upon the Conquistador. Two guards leapt into the air at the same time, swinging their blades down in great arcs like lumberjacks wielding an axe. Both of the arms of the Conquistador severed cleanly off above each elbow. A second pair of Guards leapt on the armless ironclad horseman and followed him down to the ground, burying their blades across his exposed neck. The vengeful holy protectors scissored their machetes together and severed his head, like a giant pair of hedge clippers.

The three Royal Guards who had remained on the pyramid grabbed the High-Priest before he fell backwards from the sudden loss of blood. They dragged him the rest of the distance up the steps and into the opening before the last of his life had drained away. With wide and dying eyes, he whispered to the closest Guard.

"Get the Box... to the room."

And then he died.

The last image burned into the growing blackness that crept in on his consciousness was the Box being pulled from his still clutching fingers by the newly chosen savior of his God.

The Guard wasted no time. As he saw the glaze of death spread over his Holy Leader, he knew exactly what to do. He had been trained for this moment, as those before him had been trained for a thousand years. This was his sole purpose in life; he would now fulfill it, no matter what. He had been chosen by the Holy High-Priest himself.

The young Royal Guardian took the holy wooden case and sprinted through the maze of corridors and tunnels in the massive pyramid. Down and down he went; his thoughts focused and pure like an epiphany. _'Back this way... Now over to the wall and back down the hidden passage.'_ Down again he ran, into the deepest layers of the ancient basement complex. When he got to the bottom, the Guard sprinted past the huge wall of glyphs and art that hid the entrance to the real reason for building this structure; the real reason men and women had sacrificed their lives to construct this pyramid over the ten thousand years since it was begun.

A reason that was now hidden behind a false wall, which would hopefully never be found.

The Guard only had a moment to ponder this as he took another turn and headed into an antechamber not far from the secret wall. The room was lit with dozens of candle torches, as was the entire pyramid interior. The bright paintings and the glowing torchlight made the inside of the stone and earth monument seem comfortable. The small room had nothing in it that would seem to confer a purpose to the antechamber. It laid off a large passageway to the false hallway room that hid the entrance to the central pyramid basement. It seemed almost an afterthought of design.

When he got in the room, the Royal Guard ran to the far back corner with the Box. The back wall of the chamber was covered in beautifully intricate carvings and glyphs that went from the floor up onto the curved ceiling. The carvings near the bottom were larger and more convoluted than those on the top half of the carved mural. Half bird and half men creatures crossed over and under each other, with arms and legs intertwined with wings, beaks, and feathers.

Expertly hidden among the arms and legs of the multitude of mythical beasts was a deep darkness the size of a manhole. When he got to the corner, there were several other Royal Guards of the Warrior Priesthood waiting beside the entrance to the hole in the wall. One of them tried to reach for the Box, but the chosen guardian of the sacred stone dove for the opening with the mahogany case tucked under his body. Just inside the tunnel was a large pile of heavy blankets bound together with leaves and stuffing in the middle. It was a crude mattress made to fit under the Box as it slid through the hidden passage. The Guard shot into the opening and landed on top of the Box, on top of the mattress. He immediately shoved himself vertically until he slammed his head and back into the top of the small tunnel. Then he grabbed the mattress with one hand and pulled it in front of him.

His bare knees and feet slid across the carved rock hole while he pushed the Box ahead of him. He could only hold himself upright with one hand as he carefully guided the mahogany treasure down the square hole, which was only inches wider than the Box itself. His hand began to bleed almost immediately; long before he could see the dim light in the far distance of the hole. But only the hand he used on the ground was bleeding. The hand he used to push the Box never touched the dirt or the rocks. No blood from the dutiful savior of the secret of the Maya would stain the Box. As the guard kept his momentum at the pace of a fast stroll down a street, the fingers of the hand he was driving into the rock began to lose skin and flesh to the bone. But the guard didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He didn't dare. He was the chosen one.

When he reached the end of the tortuously long tunnel, another Royal Guard was there to grab the Box out of the hole. The chosen one jumped out as best he could with bloody knees and only one working hand. The other Guard carried the Box over to the only object in the small octagonal shaped room with a ceiling too low to stand. A short pedestal about four feet across and a little under three feet tall sat in the middle of the vertically-challenged room. The light from the one torch threw shadows over the intricate carvings on the pedestal sides. The top of the pedestal was perfectly flat and smooth. Exactly centered in the square pedestal was a hole that was just large enough to hold the wooden case. After he reverently placed the Box into the hole in the pedestal top, he and the wounded Royal Guard crawled to the far side of the pedestal. Leaning against the back of the table was an intricately carved top that was matched to the stone bottom.

Both of the men grabbed the sides of the massive carved pedestal top. The bloody and raw fingers of the chosen one ground into the rough stone on the edge of the cover. Calling on every ounce of strength in his damaged body, the chosen one lifted his half of the 350 pound top until it was horizontal. Then the two men started to hover the stone cover into position over the pedestal. The pain in the chosen one's hand was now making itself known. He could feel the actual bone in his first two fingers crunching against the stone in his hand. His knees were beginning to wobble and cramp from the long crawl he made to get in here. Just as he thought he would no longer be able to hold up his side, the other Guard began to lower the top onto the pedestal. The intertwined carvings in the intricate top began to line up and slowly drop the final few millimeters.

Then, his finger tip shattered from the load on the unprotected bone.

The immense stone top fell the last twelve millimeters and the chosen one screamed out in pain. The part of the top that was against the raw bones in his hand was the only part that had his blood on it. It was this exact piece which snapped cleanly off when the top fell the final fractions of an inch. The small, broken stone fell onto the ground in front of the chosen one. As the other Royal Guard crawled toward the exit hole, the chosen one grabbed the broken piece and tried to put it back into the spot where it belonged. But the carvings designed to hide the top prevented it from fitting. There would be no way to put the piece back in without removing the top. And he couldn't do that alone.

He looked up in time to see his only source of help shimmy into the hole with the mattress and disappear.

He grabbed the broken piece of stone in his damaged hand and extinguished the torch against the wall before he limped into the exit hole and crawled toward a future he had never trained for. His sole purpose in life had just been fulfilled. The God Itzamna had been saved from the hordes of savages that were now raping and pillaging his sacred temple. Then he remembered the High-Priest was also dead. He watched him die with his own eyes. And then the Guard did what the High-Priest charged him with doing; what he had trained his whole life to do.

He saved his God.

As the chosen one stuck his head out of the hole, the others grabbed his shoulders and yanked him out of the tunnel. Then they quickly slid a carved stone, which was lodged between the legs and wings of the relief carving, into the hole opening. They pushed it back into the wall, and the perfectly fitted block of stone slid into place. Now the tunnel was sealed and hidden.

It would remain hidden for the next 468 years.

Just as the Royal Guards finished, they heard the screams approaching. The antechamber they were in was a dead-end room, only one entrance. The warrior guardians pulled out their machete blades made of the holy metal iron and waited for the arrival of their doom. They didn't have to wait long. A group of four Conquistadors charged into the room with swords drawn. The machetes were no match for the Spanish steel in the close quarters of the antechamber. The chosen one was the last to have his heart pierced by the unfeeling blade of the conquerors. As the eyes of the brave guard clouded over, the mercenary who killed him reached down and yanked off the gold and gem necklace the dying man wore to signify his membership in the elite clan of Royal Guardians chosen for a holy mission.

The bloody fingers of the fallen hero slowly opened after the Conquistador finished robbing his corpse. The broken piece of the hidden pedestal fell silently between his bloody and damaged legs.

That broken piece of stone would also not be disturbed for the next 468 years.

The Conquistadors barely found a pocketful of treasure on the bodies of the Royal Guards of the Warrior Priesthood.

They never found the hidden tunnel or the false-wall hiding the real reason the monument existed.

They never found the hoard of gold they hoped to find, either...
Chapter 3

T-MINUS: 50 HOURS 46 MINUTES

LOCATION:

MIDDLE OF THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 12:32 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 15:32 GMT

• • • • •

The boat was unique in the true sense of the word.

In fact, it didn't really resemble a boat at all.

It looked more like a spacecraft that was hovering just over the crystal deep blue of the Atlantic ocean. From a distance, the _Moondance_ had a sexy silhouette that could almost be mistaken for a luxury yacht. But the lines did not exactly match any known type of vessel. The entire boat was covered in a black sparkly plating which had been fashioned to fit every corner of the highly customized hull, decking, and cabin. Sharp angles and flat surfaces of black plating combined to create a stealthy predator feel to the ship. Above the main hull, the entire upper portion of the yacht was extended on massive scissor hydraulic arms, creating a large indoor flying-bridge that reached up like a command terrace on battleship. Coming off the rear of the flying-bridge was a wide shield-shaped retractable hardtop canopy with the same black plating on top, which extended back over the extra large rear deck like a high-tech picnic umbrella on robotic arms.

But it was the color of the ship that was mesmerizing.

The sun was coming from high in the southern hemisphere and the water sparkled like a layer of rhinestones floating on the surface of the deep blue sea. And in the middle of this shimmering sheet, the _Moondance_ sparkled, too. Flecks of light came from inside the pitch black color of the plating that created the skin of the ship. Uniformly spread through the blackness of the unknown meta-material glinted tiny flashes of prismatic color and light. In the bright sun of the Atlantic, the effect was spectacular. The ship seemed to have an aura around it. If you stared at the plating, the movement of the ocean and the reflection of the sunlight caused the boat to undulate in a liquid rainbow moiré. Tiny explosions of light and color spread over the panels in waves that oozed in sync with the gentle swells of the sea.

The final visual effect of this atomic-scaled light show was to make the _Moondance_ appear to match the color of the ocean when viewed from above. And because of the way light works, the _Moondance_ also looked like the distant horizon and sky when viewed from the perspective of another ship on the surface. Although that was not the intention of the radiation-shield nano-material, the result was that the ship had a crude form of built-in adaptive camouflage. It didn't make the ship invisible, but it made it much harder to pick it out of the big blue ocean.

As far as Marshall Tomkin was concerned, that alone was worth the trouble of retrofitting his pride and joy, the _Moondance_. As he glanced back toward the bridge from his fishing chair in the stern, Marshall decided the new retractable hardtop cover over the rear deck wasn't too bad, either. Although now that he looked at it, he thought the nano-plating made the cruiser yacht look like a floating version of a stealth bomber.

Before he could finish his mental appraisal, he heard the familiar snap of fishing line and the high pitched gearing of saltwater tackle running out on drag. Marshall instinctively tightened his grip on the fishing pole he was holding between his legs. But as he turned away from the bridge, he realized it wasn't his rig that had a hit. About four feet away in the other fishing chair mounted on the stern of the boat, Marshall's nephew, Luke Tomkin, was struggling with a fishing pole much smaller than the one Marshall had. As he watched Luke pulling and reeling in the line, Marshall caught a glimpse of himself fifteen years earlier. It was actually shocking how much they resembled each other.

At forty-six, Marshall was fifteen years younger than Luke's father, who was Marshall's oldest brother. Luke was fifteen years younger than Marshall and just turned thirty-one. There was unquestionably a family resemblance between all of three of them. Although he was only his uncle, Marshall could have easily passed for Luke's brother. They both had creamy brown hair, as all the men in their side of the family had. But Marshall usually kept his hair short; a leftover from a long ingrained habit.

Luke's hair was more like golden locks than hair. Marshall always marveled when he stopped and looked at his favorite nephew. He was as fit as a human could be. Not that Marshall was in bad shape. Luke didn't have as much mass as Marshall had, but Marshall was by no means fat for a man of any age. Truthfully, he was mostly muscle and looked like he had the body of a twenty-six year old. Marshall instinctively looked at his arms as he thought this. His arms were big, especially his forearms. He always had large forearms. It was from his younger days as a trampolinist and an acrobat. At the height of his training in high school, he had forearms that were as muscular as his calves, which were massive. Even at forty-six, his legs were large and ripped. He didn't do anything much more than run. But he could run and run.

Just as he was about to remind himself to hit the treadmill today, he saw Luke start fighting with his fishing rod like a kid with a big dog's leash. Marshall slowly began to reel in his tackle as he settled back into his chair.

"Easy there... Don't pull too hard or you'll—"

Just when Marshall was about to pass-on the hard-earned knowledge of a seasoned professional fishing captain, Luke's line snapped loose, and the pole popped up toward his nephew's face.

"Damn it..." Luke sat back into the leatherette of the fishing chair in dejection. "I really suck at this," he said as he looked over at his uncle.

"I told you all those English Lit classes would get you nowhere," quipped Marshall. "Now if you'd listened to me and joined the Army, as I did, you might have mastered a few more of these practical life skills. But no... You had to do it your own way."

"You know how much I love poetry," Luke retorted sardonically.

Marshall glanced at him sideways just as he felt a nibble on his deep-water fishing rig.

"Then why the hell did you get a PhD in Nano-Technology?"

Before Luke could answer, Marshall's fishing line started screaming out. He casually turned away from Luke and began reeling in his pole. Marshall picked up the rod from the holder in his chair and kept it in his left hand. Luke watched as his uncle's pole was bending and twisting back and forth from the fish on the hook. Marshall never moved anything but his right hand that was slowly turning the reel. His left forearm flexed like a giant leg muscle as the end of the pole twisted side to side violently, but the handle of the fishing rod never moved. It looked like it was mounted in a statue of a fisherman and only the hand on the crank turned.

Luke was amazed at the strength of Marshall's arms, but he kept up the banter. "Don't forget about the Master's Degrees in Astrophysics and Medical Biophysics. There's another perfectly good pair of opportunities I wasted when I could have been getting my poetry diploma."

"Well, it's probably for the best. I've read some of your poetry. You chose wisely."

Just then, Marshall saw the fish at the end of his line. It was a yellowfin tuna about two-and-a-half feet long. As he started to feel the fight of the young fish, he just barely saw his nephew out of the corner of his eye.

Luke stuck out his middle finger and smirked. "Yeah? I got your poetry, right here."

He was still holding his middle finger out as Marshall started to reel the young tuna out of the water. It started splashing and kicking as soon as Marshall lifted it clear of the slightly churning water coming from the multi-props under the oversized rear deck. Marshall effortlessly popped his wrists on the pole, and the slimy kicking fish started flying directly toward Luke. He barely had time to retract his still extended Secret-Sign-of-the-Gentryhood and dodge to the right, before the flying fish whizzed past Luke's head and slid across the deck behind him.

Marshall just looked at Luke. "Now, now... That's no way for a genius wunderkind like you to behave." He waved his finger from side to side at his reflexively gifted nephew like a school teacher.

Luke shook his head as he got up and walked over to the flopping fish. "Whatever... Let's get this inside and check it for—"

Marshall interrupted him.

"I was meaning to talk to you about that, my obstinate first mate. Your Captain is hungry. So how 'bout we do the necropsy later... on another fish, perhaps? And instead, I can grill up my floppy little friend over there for some lunch."

Luke looked up at his uncle. He had lots of things that he felt like saying. But he decided against it and held up his hands as he backed away from the tuna. "Whatever... Captain..."

Marshall smiled as he squatted down and grabbed the fish under its gills to hold it still. Then he took his fishing knife out of the sheath on his leg and expertly pierced the brain of the young game fish. Then he removed the hook and started for the sliding glass doors in the rear of the boat.

The interior of the rear cabin on the boat looked as futuristic as the exterior. The entire back wall was a sliding glass door that opened out onto the rear deck. Two bench seats sat below a bank of windows on each side of the back door. Electronic equipment, computers, and instruments covered the rest of the open space on the two long side walls, making the room look like a well outfitted laboratory rather than the main cabin on a boat. On the front wall, was a large widescreen monitor above a curved helm control panel and several banks of nautical instrumentation. Displayed on the high definition monitor was an overhead satellite image showing a geometric grid of glowing buoy markers covering an enormous swath of the Atlantic ocean. In the center of the grid of markers, was a large, amorphous blob, which was colored red and labeled 'Magnetic Anomaly' next to a small radiation symbol. Inside the northwestern quadrant of this blob was a flashing icon for the _Moondance_. Marshall stepped into the room and started for the stairway to the galley below.

Luke followed into the rear cabin and spoke to Marshall before he got to the hatchway. "Just let me look at the gonads, first. It'll only take a minute, and then you can sushi up some lunch."

Marshall spun on his heel like he was marching and headed over to a large metal lab bench in the middle of the room. When he got to the workbench, he tossed the young pelagic predator on it with a plop. Luke stepped up to the table and elbowed his uncle aside, then put on surgical gloves. He confidently grabbed a blade from the magnetic tray and began to dissect the fish near the bottom rear of the tail.

"Hey... Doctor Frankenstein... Don't chop up my pretty fish tail. I need that for the sushi appetizers." Marshall leaned against the railing of the nearest bank of equipment and crossed his legs.

Luke positioned a lighted magnifying lens over the tuna then expertly opened the fish belly, leaving all of the internal organs uncut. He continued to work on the fish with both hands as he talked to Marshall.

"Hands of a surgeon and the reflexes of a fighter pilot. Remember?"

"So exactly why did you become an over-educated inventor of the most expensive synthetic lead sheets in the world?"

"Leave my nano-shield out of this. It'll save your boat in a solar storm."

"Blah, blah, blah. Don't get me started. I was out here for a week before you told me the whole truth about these nano doodad whatchamacallits. You should have told me before I agreed to let you put it on my fishing boat."

"This is no fishing boat. I don't care what your Nautical License says."

"Well, not any more it isn't. Now she looks like the Batmobile. I used to be able to pick up chicks in my beautiful boat. But now? Well, let's just say it's a good thing she looks like a stealth bomber... 'cuz I'll have to sneak up on any woman I wanna catch."

"Blah, blah, blah." Luke was mostly ignoring Marshall while he worked on the fish. He grabbed a video camera head on a swing arm and pulled it over the fish on the table. Then he slid up out of the floor mounted stool and switched the camera on at a console mounted in the ceiling over the arm. A video monitor to the left of the table now showed a close-up of the fish where Luke had been dissecting it.

"Be happy your balls are in better shape than our deep sea buddy here." He pointed to the screen as he finally looked over at Marshall.

Marshall didn't budge. "Found some more mutant caviar, did we?"

"More like deep fried fish balls. And I mean the little-bitty kind. Not the kind you like to fry up in that gourmet kitchen downstairs. Which is large enough to feed a small army, I might add."

"It's called a 'galley,' my landlubber friend."

"Whatever..."

Then Luke noticed what Marshall was leaning against.

"Hey, get the hell off that. If you screw this up, we have no early warning system."

Marshall still didn't budge. Instead, he gave Luke a look that said, _"Excuse me?"_

Luke recognized the look, immediately. He rolled his eyes back in his head and sighed deeply. Then he recited, "Oh Captain, this is your lowly First Mate. Please would you—"

Marshall interrupted him. "Wrong. Start over."

Luke clinched his jaw and started over. "Oh Captain, this is your lowly First Mate, Gilligan, Please would you stop leaning on the very important piece of equipment that NASA was kind enough to loan to me? And that I am responsible for with my life as I recall the conversation with the Director." Then Luke un-clinched his jaw and smiled. But it was a very fake smile.

Marshall jumped off the console he was leaning against.

"So you command, so shall it be, my young Jedi apprentice." He loved making fun of Luke's childhood fondness for the Star Wars movies. The fact that his gifted young nephew was named, Luke, only made the ribbing easier.

Luke groaned out loud, as he stepped over and checked the electronic box on the console marked SOHO II.

"Pleeeaase tell me that you didn't talk like this when you were actually a Colonel in the Army."

"Yes young Luke, I did," he said melodramatically with his own fake smile. Then he dropped the smile. "And don't try to impress me with all your NASA technology. I don't call a few minutes much of an early warning system."

Luke went back to the exam table and zoomed the video camera in to look at the gonads. They had odd looking growths on them that stuck out of the reproductive organs of the fish like dark bulges. He also went back to talking to Marshall while he worked.

"Have you ever heard of something called the speed of light? You're lucky we can get any warning at all. The solar observatory satellite system was actually designed to measure the intensity of the storms and the waves of radiation that accompany them. It's more important to know how big a coming solar storm is, even if we only know that a few minutes before it hits."

"I still don't see the logic in it, at all," interjected Marshall. "What good is an early warning system if it doesn't give you any warning?"

"Well, like I said, it's not really an early warning system. That's just what we're using it for. It's more of a gauge to measure how big they are. There seems to be a pattern emerging lately with the new giant storms we've been having this past year. The bigger the storm, the longer the duration... and the bigger the magnetic wave that pushes it, the faster that big nastiness gets here. Most solar storms take hours or even days to get to us. But these recent storms have been so large, and the magnetic wave behind them is so massive, they get here shortly after the actual sunlight and the radio signals from the satellites reach us. If we can find a relationship between the initial event and the intensity, we hope we can predict the dangerous storms better. That's what we're trying to determine with the satellite constellation around the Sun. But I really don't see why you keep whining about the SOHO II warning time. I told you the radiation plating will keep your precious boat safe."

Now it was Marshall's turn at the one word comeback.

"Whatever..."

Then he watched as Luke finished the photo essay of his latest radiation mutated fish find. Luke finally pulled off the rubber gloves and pushed the video camera up out of the way. Then he slid up off the stool and gestured to the fish.

"There you are, Captain. Lunch may now be prepared."

Marshall shook his head as he pushed past Luke and grabbed the fish by the tail. He used his other hand to stuff the guts back into the belly, then carefully picked up the body and held the fish closed with his fingers. But as he turned and started for the galley below, an alarm sounded above the main monitor. When they both turned to look, the screen automatically switched from the overhead buoy diagram to a radar screen. A beeping red signal was coming in from the northwest, several miles away from their boat in the upper left corner of the radar sweep. It appeared to be moving steadily across on a due east heading. But after a few moments of watching the radar screen, they could both see it wasn't moving terribly fast. It was also not moving on an intercept heading for the _Moondance_. As Luke watched the radar screen, Marshall tossed the fish back onto the exam table and walked over to the helm while he wiped his slimy and bloody hands on his shorts. He punched a few keys on a panel, and the main screen changed, again. This time it had a side-scan radar image of the vessel. The outline of the boat could be seen in the glowing edge-enhanced view of the obliquely approaching ship.

Marshall pressed another couple of keys and a small window popped into the corner of the main screen, then rapidly began to scroll through a library of ship silhouettes. In just a few moments, it hit on a match. A drawing of a pleasure cruising yacht popped over the edge enhanced image of the distant vessel. The identification of the manufacturer and the style were listed below the image like a heads-up-display in a fighter cockpit. Marshall checked the speed of the intruder along his crossing pathway north of their present position.

"Looks like a pleasure cruiser heading east. Probably going to Cape Verde."

Then he looked over at Luke, who had walked up next to him in front of the main monitor. Luke had his arms crossed in front of his chest and smiled at Marshall.

"You wanna tell me, again, why a fishing boat needs a side-scan standoff radar identification system?"

"You wanna tell me how you even know what a side-scan standoff radar identification system is?"

"You're not the only one who watches the _Military Channel_ , you know." Luke looked at his uncle. His tone was suddenly serious. "Do you think we should warn them about the magnetic anomaly? They're inside of it now."

Marshall punched a few keys on the panel, and the screen changed once more. This time it was the overhead view of the ocean, again. The boat icon to the northwest of them was blinking red and a straight line extended out from the flashing light slightly toward the northeast. Below that line was a calculation of the time remaining for the boat to exit the wall of the area marked by a radiation symbol. A third bold line extended from the _Moondance_ icon to the approaching ship and then several other lines fanned out along the projected pathway of the oncoming ship. Each of the lines had a targeting solution ratio of distance, speed and time highlighted across the screen in a multicolor gradient feathering out from the icon of the _Moondance_ like the NBC peacock tail. Marshall shook his head.

"No... They're heading across a corner. At the rate they're going, they'll be out of it soon. They should be fine." Then he turned toward Luke again.

Luke still had his arms crossed. But he was smiling even bigger.

"So, you wanna tell me why a fishing boat needs that target-acquisition system you just used?"

Marshall decided to play along.

"I'll tell you why I'm such a paranoid bastard right after you tell me, again, why this thinner plating you put on my multi-million dollar sweetheart here, only gives us a twenty minute window inside a bad solar-storm before we get our gonads nuked like our fishy friend here?"

Then Marshall turned around and grabbed the fish from the exam table. He held it out by the tail and pointed the dead tuna at his nephew while he finished.

"And for a bonus, I'll even let you in on a little secret of my own about my little floating lover. If you can explain to me why you felt it was appropriate to tell me this news after I'd been out here for a week, hopping in and out of this magnetic hole of yours?"

"Well for starters, you were pretty inflexible about the weight limit on this mysterious fishing boat of yours. And secondly, if you would have let me use the absorbed energy to run something on the ship, then I could have used thicker shielding in the areas over inhabited portions."

Marshall was shaking his head while still pointing at him with the dead and gutted tuna like a pregnant sword with bloody tassels. Luke had to try hard not to crack up as the fish guts started dripping onto Marshall's sandals. Marshall ignored the fish but answered Luke.

"I told you, I have plenty of power aboard the boat."

"Yes, I know you did. But if I put thicker shielding without having a nearby drain ground for the redirected electrical energy, then the static charge build-up from a big radiation shower would short across the air below the plates."

Marshall's arm finally gave out, and he dropped the fish to his side.

Luke continued to defend himself, but was fighting a smirk the whole time.

"And you know what I said one of those static shocks would be like, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Like a jolt from a lightening bolt... Fine. That explains the thinner plates and the twenty minute egg-timer for my balls. But what about the tiny detail of you forgetting to tell me about this little issue before last week over steaks and beer? Got an answer for that, smart-ass?"

Luke knew he was busted. He reached for a straw, anyway.

"What? You didn't get the memo?"

Marshall burst out laughing and almost dropped the fish. Luke couldn't hold it back any more and started laughing, too.

Then Marshall turned and headed toward the galley swinging the fish like a kid swinging his lunch box.

"Let's eat. I'm starving."

Luke just shook his head. Sometimes, he thought his Dad may have been right. Marshall never did grow up. That was probably why Marshall was Luke's favorite uncle. He yelled after him.

"But it shouldn't matter how much time we have to get outta the radiation... if this boat is as fast as you say it is."

He could hear as Marshall got to the bottom of the stairs and tossed the fish on the cutting board in the massive floating kitchen. Then he heard him yell back into the stairwell.

"Listen you little turd bucket, she's plenty fast enough. And don't try to change the subject. You still haven't answered my question. So unless you want the nasty end of this fish, and some of that mutant caviar you pulled off that fish we caught yesterday... as your lunch... I'd lay off insulting my baby."

Luke took off for the stairs to the galley as he yelled back down to him.

"Whaddya mean insults? I was just asking you how fast she was."

He stopped at the top of the stairs and saw his uncle down below looking back up at him. Marshall flipped his middle finger at him before heading over to start lunch.

Luke laughed to himself as he headed downstairs to help.

"I see you're a member of the Gentryhood, too."
Chapter 4

T-MINUS: 50 HOURS 32 MINUTES

LOCATION:

9 MILES NORTHWEST OF MOONDANCE

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 12:46 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 15:46 GMT

• • • • •

"Dawlin', I'm gonna go up and check da navigation, again. When I get back downstairs, I'll cook up some lunch, cher."

Although he could minimize it when he felt the need, Dwayne Boudreaux had the stereotypical accent associated with the native population from the southern part of the state of Louisiana. The formal name for these indigenous people was Creole, but they called themselves Cajun and were known colloquially as coonasses. They considered it a badge of honor, despite the seeming juxtapositional insult.

His wife, on the other hand, was from New Orleans proper; old blood stock. They also had an accent that was uniquely theirs. Oddly, it had a similar cadence and tonality to New York and New Jersey speakers. Natives of New Orleans were just as proud of that strange accent as the Cajuns were of theirs. Janine spoke to Dwayne's back as he walked over to the stairs leading up to the bridge.

"Honey, why do you bother with the autopilot if you're just gonna double-check it every thirty minutes."

Dwayne stopped at the foot of the wide spiral staircase on the side of the main cabin room and looked back at his lovely wife. Janine never looked up from her current e-book, but Lola, the dog, did. She lifted her head off Janine's leg when she heard her master speak. Her ears perked up, and she started to jump off the couch to join him up in the pilot house. Dwayne held his palm out to her but didn't speak. Lola instantly stopped moving and laid her head down again. Then Dwayne spoke.

"Good girl."

Janine stopped reading and looked up at him with a snarky expression.

"Excuse me?"

Dwayne smiled at her with his best courtroom face.

"I was talking to the dog, cher. Not you. However, to answer your question... I do it because I can, my dear. A Captain is the king of his ship when at sea. As it turns out, I don't trust all of my electronic subjects and servants. Some of them could be conspiring a takeover behind my back. A king's duties are never done."

Janine laughed out loud at him.

"Well, your majesty, your queen is going back to doing something useful, reading. You go on upstairs and interrogate your equipment. I'll have none of it. Off, you go."

She brushed her hand in the air at him and chuckled. Then she put her head back into her Kindle and put her other hand on Lola's head to rub her ears.

Dwayne blew her a kiss and then the short, portly man skipped up the wide spiral stairs to the bridge, while he happily hummed to himself.

Dwayne Boudreaux was a very happy man. He was sure of that. He was also sure it was not because of his brand new fifteen million dollar yacht that he was piloting across the Atlantic ocean. Nor did it have to do with the fortune he amassed from his part in the massive group settlement from the class-action suit over the Katrina disaster. He never found any joy at all from that. He grew up next to the Ninth Ward and his college roommate his freshman year at Southeastern Louisiana University was from there. Dwayne went home with his college roommate, Jackson, for Thanksgiving that year and met his entire family clan. They were decent, respectable people who worked hard to make a living in the service industries surrounding the Big Easy. Jackson's grandfather was a janitor at Tulane University in New Orleans, where Dwayne would finally get his Law Degree in the unique French Napoleonic legal system of Louisiana.

That legal system was not the only French influence in the state, much less in the city of New Orleans. The old city district of New Orleans is remarkably similar to the old city district of Paris. The natives of New Orleans have one of the most complex mixtures of ethnic and cultural backgrounds in the entire country. Add in the value of the port of New Orleans to the economic well-being of the entire country, and the city of New Orleans is not just unique, it's important. With a legacy spanning several centuries, New Orleans has played a defining role in significant portions of America's long and colorful history.

After graduating top of his class and breezing through the Bar, Dwayne set up his first legal practice in the Crescent City. It didn't take long before he made a name for himself. Long before the horrible events of Hurricane Katrina in late August and early September of 2005, Dwayne Boudreaux had become a star in the Crescent City legal system. More than one Governor of the state had sought out the services of the law firm that now held Dwayne's name in first partner position.

Boudreaux, Meyer, and Graphia was arguably the best known law firm of one of the oldest settlements in the southern United States. In addition to the litigation division that Dwayne headed up, they had a criminal division led by Dwayne's first partner with the name of Derek Meyer and an entertainment division run by the last name partner, Tom Graphia. The state's Governors almost regularly used the criminal services of Dwayne's firm to fend off Federal racketeering and corruption charges. Hollywood used his firm to grease the palms of the appropriate state officials responsible for allowing a regular stream of film and television productions to be in the state. Dwayne personally began taking on bigger and bigger opponents in litigation cases that began to be high-profile and precedent setting. His courtroom success rate mirrored the financial success of his entire firm. Dwayne and his partners were regular fixtures at any high-level event that happened anywhere in the southern half of the great state of Louisiana.

Dwayne Boudreaux was successful, and he lived a blessed life.

However, this was not why he was happy.

The reason Dwayne was happy was simple. A little over a year ago, he sold off everything that he owned. He left the firm that held his name on a sabbatical that had no time limit. He pulled his fourteen year old son and his twelve year old daughter out of school. Finally, he grabbed his beautiful wife and their new puppy, then loaded them all aboard this highly-customized floating five-star hotel suite of a yacht. Then he left the city of his birth and life behind.

This was not some mid-life crisis of a wealthy man. This was an intentional voyage of discovery. In what could only be described as an epiphany, Dwayne had begun a spiritual journey which led to the realization that he and his family needed more of a connection to each other, and to the rest of the world. His children grew up privileged and rich. It was unlikely that his son or his daughter would ever experience the simple joy of a Thanksgiving meal with the salt-of-the-earth people who once inhabited the poor neighborhoods of New Orleans. That experience changed Dwayne forever. His college roommate's family no longer lived in their old neighborhood. Everyone left after the flood. The flavor of the big city, the emotional lagniappe and the jambalaya of sights, sounds, and soul of New Orleans changed forever when the levees broke that horrible rainy night.

The city was still rebuilding, but the city was different. It took hundreds of years to make New Orleans. The melting-pot of life known as the Crescent City, which had been the result of millions of residents over time, was essentially starting from scratch.

Dwayne ate soup at a small tavern once in the countryside of England. Tavern owners will sometimes have soup stocks cooking in the kitchen that have been cooking for decades or longer. Even during World-War II, these soups never stopped cooking over a low flame. Constantly replenished but never emptied, these stews have some part of them which is from the first batch made so many years earlier. The tavern owner came out from the kitchen and personally delivered the bowl of soup to Dwayne's table. He apologized before Dwayne even picked up his spoon. The tavern owner told him that during a harsh winter in the 1950's, the soup that his forefathers had been keeping in the tavern name for over a century spoiled when the power went out for a week. They had to start a new soup, and this stock was less than fifty years old.

This stunned Dwayne. He didn't know what to say.

The tavern owner politely excused himself and left him to his pre-apologized soup. Dwayne was no stranger to food. No one who lives more than a week in Louisiana is a stranger to fabulous food. Every corner deli serves food fit for a king. Louisiana cajun cooking is unique, and true fans of the style are never satisfied with cuisine from anywhere else. So when Dwayne ladled up his first spoonful of soup, which was older than he was, he wasn't sure at all what he would taste.

But it was heaven.

Even to a palate that was as sophisticatedly singed-off as the one in Dwayne's mouth, the taste was exquisite. Layers of flavors unfolded on his tongue like nothing he had ever endured. This was a dish that the tavern owner had felt the overwhelming urge to come out and apologize for; to a man who would never have known the difference. He had to try hard not to pick up the bowl and drink it.

Dwayne spent the next week visiting taverns like a madman. He tried stews that were in their sixties. He tried stews in their hundreds. He finally tried a stew that was the oldest he could find.

When he finished his quest, he was not only full gastronomically, Dwayne felt mentally satiated.

He finally understood why the first tavern owner had felt the need to approach a stranger from a strange land, and apologize. Nothing can replace time.

Just like those remarkable English stews, the flavor of old New Orleans was the product of hundreds of years of life being stirred into the city. The current flavor of New Orleans was only seven years old and counting.

This was the start of the journey that Dwayne began on Friday September 1, 2005. That was the day when the horrors that were in the New Orleans SuperDome, and the flooded streets of his hometown, finally became known to the world. After he spent the next five-and-a-half years putting a price on the suffering that his poorest neighbors and childhood friends had to endure, because of government and leadership failures of the most obscene kind, he packed up his family on this miniature cruise ship and left the port of New Orleans behind.

The yacht had a state of the art satellite transceiver system which Dwayne used to maintain a link with the world. His children used the high-speed connection to continue their studies remotely, and his wife used it to complain to her friends back home about how beautiful the boring, flat ocean was. However, none of that bothered Dwayne. He was slowly getting to know his family for the first time. From New Orleans, they followed the Gulf coast around to Florida. From there, they cruised through the Caribbean and down to the Yucatan. Then they headed back east through the Antilles, and now they were heading to Africa. Over the past year, he learned the art of sailing across open ocean. Then he earned his Nautical Pilot Certification for easing the way in large ports and overseas. Now, he was ready to make the trans-Atlantic jaunt to Cape Verde. Then it was north to the Strait of Gibraltar and into the birthplace of modern history. He and his family were going to learn, first-hand, where the story of human civilization began.

That was why Dwayne Boudreaux was happy.

The other members of his family, however, did not share Dwayne's enthusiasm.

His youngest daughter, who was now thirteen years old, was the most vocal of all about her disapproval of their family journey together when the trip began. She had just made the cheerleading squad at the most popular Catholic all-girl school in the entire city of New Orleans and the surrounding area. Her life was all planned out, and it was going to be joyous. Then her Daddy went and ruined it all. For well over a year, she had pouted on the main deck in front of the boat. All while tanning her way across the Gulf and the Caribbean, and now halfway across the Atlantic ocean.

If she tanned any further, Dwayne wouldn't be able to recognize her.

Of course, none of this mattered to Dwayne's daughter, Dawnne. All she knew was that her father pulled her out of the only home she had ever known. Then he dragged her halfway around the Gulf coastline followed by an endless series of Caribbean islands, which all looked the same to her. She hated him for that.

Dawnne Boudreaux was not a friend of her father's; not at the moment.

Dwayne didn't care.

His daughter would learn what he wanted her to learn. Dwayne was patient, and she was a captive audience.

His son, Trés Boudreaux, didn't feel much better about the situation. Now fifteen years old, he resembled more of a young Greek god than he did a spoiled, rich, teenage New Orleans boy. Dwayne thought he would never hear the end of it when he finally had to sell the boy's pride and joy, his convertible red sports car. Dwayne had purchased it for him when he was fourteen and got his Learners Permit to drive. However, Dwayne wasn't stupid. He knew why Trés really missed that car. It had little to do with the German engineering or the Spanish leather seats. It was about the 250 horsepower engine under the hood and the 130 miles per hour on the speedometer. That was another reason Dwayne was glad to get his son out of the city. It was easier to keep an eye on him here on the boat, and it moved a lot slower than his sports car.

The only good thing that had happened on the trip so far was his two children seemed to be getting along. For the first time in years, Trés was sitting next to his sister and not fighting. In fact, the two of them had been inseparable for the entire thirteen months that the family had been on this journey. They apparently bonded over their hatred for their father. At this moment, Trés was lying next to his sister on the deck in front of the massive custom yacht. Like Dawnne, he had turned golden brown from the sun. He also had a simmering anger directed at his father. Thirteen months at sea and port had done nothing to temper either of their feelings toward Dwayne.

Then, there was Janine. This personal journey Dwayne was on wouldn't have been worth it, if not for Janine. That was not to say, however, that Janine understood what her husband was doing or why. All Janine knew was she loved her husband and wanted to be with her husband. She would stand by her man through anything, and she would make her children stand by their father, too.

Janine truly loved Dwayne, and she would not leave her husband. She didn't know why he had to do this, and Dwayne had stopped trying to explain. However, Janine appreciated the journey she and her family had been on for these past thirteen months. It was not, however, what she expected her life to be as a New Orleans Socialite. She missed the nightlife of the city. She missed the stores and shopping. She missed her big house and her friends and her family. However, she had not been this close to the man she loved since she fell in love with him so many years ago. For that reason, she was going to make the most of this time together. She didn't care if her spoiled rotten children sat on the hot deck for the whole journey and whined.

Janine, on the other hand, loved the air-conditioning in this wonderful yacht. She was still in the main cabin with her feet propped up and Lola, the pit-bull, sitting next to her. Lola was one-and-a-half years old now. She was just a puppy when Dwayne got word the yacht he had been designing was ready. Shortly after that, the family left on the boat, and they had all been at sea since then.

The puppy was ecstatic on the ocean. She ran up and down from one end to the other of this amazingly large boat. She had more fun when they stopped and played. Lola jumped into the water and came back up the stairs on the diving platform off the back, just like the other kids. She enjoyed the water more than she enjoyed the land, and she had spent the vast majority of her young life at sea. Lola was a beautiful dog. Her coat absorbed the sea water, and she glowed. Thin white fur covered her from head to toe except for one patch of brown over her left eye. It gave her a comical look that softened her pit-bull face.

Dwayne stepped off the staircase and turned forward into the bridge. Although the boat was on autopilot and everything was programmed by GPS, Dwayne felt compelled to walk by and check every once in a while. He had, after all, passed the Nautical Pilot Certification test and felt guilty about not actually standing in front of the wheel. However, he knew Janine was right. It was superfluous to do so because the ship was guided by the latest equipment in computer navigation. The autopilot system knew exactly where it was going, and how to get there by itself. It also knew exactly what was around it because of the on-board anti-collision detection radar. In fact, as Dwayne stepped in front of the radar screen, he saw there was a ship less than nine miles south of his boat, the _Saint of the City_. According to the radar data, this boat was stationary.

_'It's probably some fishing boat,'_ Dwayne thought to himself.

He did some mental calculations and realized it would only be a couple of minutes before he was past the closest point he and this unknown vessel would be, about seven miles apart. Dwayne quickly put the other boat out of his mind. He began thinking of Africa, instead. They were making pretty respectable time, but he wasn't sure how long it would take to get there. He considered punching it up on the computer, which would tell him exactly when they would arrive at Cape Verde. But he changed his mind when he felt his stomach growling at him. Besides, he knew he still had a couple of days of peaceful solitude in the wide open ocean before they got close to any type of land. Dwayne had learned to appreciate the peace and quiet, if only to make the most of the silent treatment his kids had been giving him for the entire trip. The thought of his kids made him lean over the panel and look out at the front deck.

Like twin golden statues, both of his children were lying on their backs baking in the Atlantic sun. Almost on cue, they turned over onto their stomachs at the same time. His daughter Dawnne, reached back and undid her swimsuit top and let the straps hang down onto the chair, ensuring her tan would be unbroken by any lines. It had become a point of pride with her. Dwayne chuckled to himself as he leaned back up and took one last look at the instruments.

Suddenly, as he was staring at his equipment bank, he heard a loud sizzling pop. Then he saw smoke and a flash of fire come from several of his instruments at once. Before he could react, he heard screams coming from the bow of his boat. He lurched forward over the smoldering panel and looked back down to the front deck. What he saw took the breath out of him. Down on the deck of his fifteen million dollar yacht, his two golden skinned children were screaming. Their hair was crackling with sparks and flames, as they ran back toward the cabin. Dwayne only saw them for a second before they ran into the cabin below him. As he continued to stare in disbelief, the reclining chairs that his two children were lying on, and all of the seat pads everywhere around the entire deck, suddenly smoldered dark brown then burst into multicolored flames.

Before he could process what he was seeing, the instrument panel he was leaning against sizzled and sparked, again. Above him, heat began emanating from the roof, and Dwayne felt it on his scalp. Everywhere he looked, the ocean began to steam. The engines suddenly died, and he slammed forward, banging into the console in front of him as the boat dropped out of cruising speed. The panel he was touching sparked one more time then shorted out. A pervasive hissing sound seemed to come from everywhere, and the only other sound was the screams from down below. Dwayne snapped out of his inaction and quickly jumped into the stairwell. He tripped as he took the first step and fell the entire way down into the cabin below him.

The fall might have saved his life because moments later the helm console burst into flames with an explosion of glass fragments littering the air where Dwayne's head was only a few seconds before.

At the bottom of the spiral staircase landing, Dwayne picked himself up and looked around the room. The noise was painful. Lola was now in attack mode on the carpet in the middle of the room barking at everything and everyone. His wife, Janine, was screaming and standing on the sofa in front of the plasma screen, which suddenly turned on then exploded into itself with a loud crackle and a pop. Dwayne's children were several feet inside the door to the front deck, and they were still screaming, too. The skin on the backside of their bodies was boiled up like a bad scalding burn, and the back of their hair was almost singed entirely off.

The momentum of the boat had been quickly dropping speed since Dwayne left the bridge. Then suddenly, they were dead in the water. As he looked out the window, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Dead fish began popping up, and a white film was forming over the entire surface of the ocean. The water looked as if it were boiling. Everywhere he turned, Dwayne could feel heat burning into his skin. The electronics in the entertainment system behind him began sizzling and popping. The electrical sockets throughout the room began to short out inside the paneling. Dark char lines began to creep along the walls following the electrical wiring throughout the boat, and the cabin suddenly began to smell as if it were burning.

Dwayne had no idea what was going on, but he knew something was terribly wrong. He grabbed Janine and Lola, then yanked them toward the grand staircase to down below. He shoved them both down the stairs and then went back and grabbed Dawnne and Trés. Dwayne took off for the staircase again as he pulled their blistered bodies, one under each arm. They were both in too much shock to notice their skin peeling off under their father's arms. Their bodies had already turned off the pain receptors in their burnt and blistered backs. It was fortunate that Dawnne was topless when the radiation hit. The fabric would have melted into her back. Both of their swimming suit bottoms had burst into flames when the material reacted with the solar radiation and then melted into the top layer of their buttocks. Except where their suit melted into their skin, neither of them had more than severe second-degree burns and blisters. They were just burned entirely on the backside of their bodies.

Dwayne ran to the stairway with his children in tow and headed down below taking two steps at a time. When he got downstairs, Janine was in shock and Lola had stopped barking. They were quietly standing together against the wall a few feet inside the hallway. Dwayne ran past them with the children and stopped in front of the door to the engine room.

Just as Dwayne pulled open the heavy door and was ready to throw Dawnne and Trés down into the engine compartment, he felt something slam into the boat. The impact was so hard, it picked him up off his feet and shoved him into the bulkhead on the opposite side of the doorway. Dawnne and Trés landed next to Dwayne against the wall, then the three of them slid onto the floor as a group. His wife and Lola were also thrown into the air, and they landed in a heap, in front of Dwayne.

Before he could move, Dwayne felt and heard something pushing against the outside of his boat.

He had no idea what was happening, but the one thought in his mind was to get his family into the engine compartment. Then he would lock the door behind them.

As Dwayne was struggling to get his feet back under him and stand up with his children, his wife started screaming, again.

So did the dog.

His children had stopped momentarily, but they started back up, too.

Over all of this din, Dwayne suddenly heard someone's voice yelling out.
Chapter 5

T-MINUS: 50 HOURS 25 MINUTES

LOCATION:

MIDDLE OF THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 12:53 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 15:53 GMT

__

__

• • • • •

"Luke! Hold on to something!"

The noise was so loud, Luke might not have heard him if Marshall hadn't screamed his warning into the microphone, and the big PA speakers outside the boat blasted his orders across the rear deck. The electrical sizzle from the plating started to increase in intensity just as Marshall used the oversized side-thrusters to slam the _Moondance_ into the side of the burning pleasure yacht, _Saint of the City,_ off their starboard. The robotic motors and the gearing on the back shield-canopy screamed in a high pitch whine as they slid ninety-degrees off of the stern deck and hovered about ten feet over the rear of the smoldering luxury ship.

Outside on the back deck, Luke didn't need to be told to hang on. After dropping the large rubber bumpers over the side of the boat from the protection of the side walkway canopy, he clung to the railing on the rear of the _Moondance_ like he was on the side of a mountain cliff. When the two ships impacted, he didn't want to be thrown overboard into the space between the boats. He watched above him as the robot canopy finished extending the nano-shield across to the stricken yacht, which was rapidly beginning to burn in front of his eyes.

Both ships were now moving slightly to the right as the _Moondance's_ massive side thrusters caught the momentum of the sitting boat and began pushing it. As soon as the umbrella canopy of radiation shielding locked out over the side railing, Luke jumped across and grabbed onto the first thing he could grab. The hot railing of the exposed yacht began to burn into his palms, but he held on long enough to get his feet under him on the slippery deck of the new boat. Then he turned and ran through the back doors of the ship into the main cabin area and began screaming.

"Hello... Is anyone here? Hello... Hello..."

_'Where the hell is everyone?'_ Luke thought to himself as he spun around in the luxury cabin looking for any movement. He was about to call out again when he heard someone from down below deck yelling back. It was a man's voice. Luke ran for the wide open stairway at the far end of the large lounge room and jumped down the first seven stairs in one leap. On the next leap, he crashed onto the floor at the bottom of the huge staircase. Then he slowly got his balance and stood up before looking down the hallway.

He was shocked by what he saw. A topless young boy and girl, who looked like they had just been removed from a broiler, were shivering and crying against a wall. Between the children, a man who looked like he was probably the captain of the boat was holding them under his arms. Across from those three, was a frightened woman wearing a nightgown, who was screaming at him. Next to her, was a dog, which was also barking viciously at him.

Luke started waving his arms at the stairs and began yelling at the terrified group.

"The boat is on fire. We have to get out of here now. Come up the stairs. We have to leave."

Dwayne looked incredulously at Luke, who appeared out of nowhere, but he instantly decided not to question his lucky break. Dwayne picked up his blistered children and started up the hallway. He looked back over at his wife when he got to the bottom of the grand stairs.

"Honey, let's go... Now!"

Janine shook off her hysteria and took off for the stairs, but Lola just kept barking. Luke started for the dog but realized it was a terrible idea when she bared her teeth and started growling in between her barks. He squatted down and tried to call the dog nicely, but she kept growling and backed away from him down the hall. Suddenly behind him, Luke heard a thump and a scream as Janine tripped on the first stair and collapsed in a heap. When he turned and saw Janine sprawled over the stairs, he jumped back around and quickly grabbed her by the waist. Then he pulled her upright and checked if she was still conscious. When he saw her frightened face was alert, Luke slid his arm around her waist and started pulling her up the stairs next to him. Behind them in the hall, Lola stopped barking as she watched Luke drag Janine up the stairs and away, but she didn't move.

When Luke got upstairs into the main cabin area, Marshall had just arrived and was helping Dwayne at the back door out of the main room. He turned and screamed over the ear-splitting noise coming from the static discharge in the nano-shields when he saw Luke come up the stairs with Janine.

"We have eleven minutes and counting to get the hell out of here... Let's go!"

Marshall reached down and grabbed the two children out of Dwayne's hands before he could object. Then he turned and ran out the back cabin door carrying them like large half-naked sacks of potatoes. Marshall rounded the corner on the back deck and leapt across the railings of both ships in one jump like a hurdler. The bare feet of the facedown children dragged across both railings, smacking the bones on the top of the shoeless feet of Dawnne.

When he landed on the other side, she began to scream again while she curled up into a little ball under Marshall's iron gripped arm. This only made it easier for Marshall to hold on to her as he sprinted across the giant rear deck on the _Moondance_. He ran up to the open sliding glass doors then tossed the children inside the room like bowling balls. They both slid under the exam table, curled up into fetal positions and didn't move.

Marshall started to turn around and run back, but he quickly took one last look at the timer and saw that it was approaching ten minutes; the halfway mark. He ran back over to the railing just in time to see Dwayne looking at the distance over the rails and the churning water between them. Marshall jumped the rails and grabbed Dwayne by the shoulders. Then he pointed to the cabin on the _Moondance_.

"Go... NOW!"

Dwayne looked at him, then looked at the railings again. He gritted his jaw together and forced his round midsection down onto his legs before springing up and over the sides of both boats. He tumbled onto the deck when he landed then rolled toward the middle of the boat. He bounced back up and looked back across at Marshall, who nodded his head and pointed inside the cabin of the _Moondance_. Dwayne looked in and saw his children, then took off for the rear cabin doors. When Marshall turned around on the burning boat, he saw Luke coming out of the rear door to the cabin with Janine. Luke looked up at his uncle as he ran past him.

"I need help with her. She's almost catatonic," he shouted as he shoved Janine over to the railing.

Marshall stepped next to Luke and jumped the railings in one stride again. When he landed on the _Moondance_ rear deck, he flipped around and reached across the bumper car boats, grabbing Janine by the shoulders. His massive forearms flexed as Marshall's thick fingers gripped onto her small frame. Then he yanked her airborne across both railings so quickly she looked weightless. Luke just barely had time to grab her ankles and keep them from banging on the hot metal railings. Then Luke mimicked his uncle and leapt sideways from one boat to the other. Then the two of them dragged Janine the rest of the way into the main cabin.

Lola started barking one deck down below just as Marshall pulled the _Moondance_ away and started to retract the canopy of life. Somehow the sound penetrated her catatonia, and before the canopy was fully retracted back in, Janine snapped out of her shock and screamed.

"Lola!"

Then Janine tried to get up, but her legs wouldn't move very well. Dwayne grabbed her and held her from moving.

Marshall looked with confused open eyes at Luke. Luke quickly realized who Janine must have meant by Lola.

"Shit! It's their dog. I forgot about her." Luke realized his perfect memory had just failed him under stress. He tried to explain it to Marshall. "She wouldn't come when I tried to get her. She's down below in the hallway. I didn't—"

Marshall reached back over to the panel and slammed the thrusters back the other direction throwing everyone in the cabin across the room from the sudden change in momentum. He looked at the countdown clock and saw it was now under ten minutes. They had passed the halfway point. Before he could think, the _Moondance_ slammed into the _Saint of the City_ once again, which was now on fire from stem to stern. Marshall sprinted back out the back door and rounded the corner. The canopy had not yet extended fully back over the side decks of the momentum connected boats, but Marshall dove headfirst through the air as he reached the railings, anyway. As his body became horizontally airborne, he left the protection of the radiation shielded canopy, and he immediately felt the burning rays of the Sun penetrating his back. He arced gracefully over both railings and landed on his hands doing a perfect forward roll onto the back deck of the stricken boat. Then he bounced up onto his feet and jumped into the open rear door of the lounge.

His back was steaming and already showing signs of a sunburn as he ran headlong into the main cabin area. When Marshall was inside a minute earlier, he saw an elevated railing for a sitting area above the grand staircase leading to the luxury cabins below. He charged across the room and leapt out over the staircase then grabbed the bottom rail over the opening to the lower decks like a gymnast mounting the high bar. As his body swung down and out over stairs below, he let go of the railing with his hands and his momentum carried him down the entire flight of stairs in a long, graceful movement. He hit the bottom of the hallway floor in a three point stance like a superhero landing off a building.

Lola had not moved an inch from the back of the hall. She was now barking full blast as Marshall slowly stood up and looked at her. He began to walk forward, and Lola barked even louder. Never taking his eyes off the dog's eyes, he quickly picked up speed charging straight for the frightened animal. As he reached her and leapt forward, he swung his left arm across his face and extended it slightly out to the side. Lola took the bait and at the last minute turned to bite his left forearm just as he tackled her onto the floor. His impact knocked the breath out of the full-grown puppy, but she never let go of her bite.

That was just fine for Marshall.

The pain in his forearm was intense because she was really clamping down her jaw. However, her jaw was extended wide open to fit his large forearm into her mouth, and she could only bite so hard against his flexed muscle. He used his other arm to scoop her body up and used the arm in her mouth to hold her head against his chest. Then he turned and ran back toward the staircase. He took four steps at a time to the top of the stairs and ran out the back of the boat without stopping. When he got out the door, he planted his left heel expertly like a marching bandsman holding a furry tuba in front of him. As he changed direction ninety-degrees and charged across the final few feet of the deck, he lifted the terrified pooch higher on his chest. Then he leapt across the railings again; this time, curling his body in a forward-flip. He landed hard on his shoulder and back against the deck as the dog yelped out in pain and fear on his belly.

Marshall tucked his body and rolled back up into a squatting position with the dog in front of him and just his feet on the ground. Before his momentum stopped, he shot up with his massive legs then jumped sideways into the cabin. As he flew horizontally into the room, he rotated with the dog until it was underneath his body, and they both landed hard on the smooth floor then slid inside the door. When Marshall landed on the dog and knocked the breath out of her once more, it was all she could take. Lola finally released her grip on his arm, and Marshall jumped up with perfect teeth marks from the frightened canine on his left forearm. Lola continued to lay on the floor sucking for air as Marshall charged into the captain's chair in front of the main monitor and helm. He flipped the thrusters back away from the burning hulk of the fifteen million dollar Life-Journey-Machine of Dwayne Boudreaux's. Then he pushed a button on the joystick on the arm of his chair as he screamed across the noise.

"Luke, get everyone down below."

Luke quickly grabbed up the first Boudreaux he could reach and ran them downstairs to the galley. Marshall looked at the timer once more and saw that it had just passed seven minutes and fifty-nine seconds. Then he looked up at the monitors and realized how far they were inside the magnetic hole anomaly. He shoved the joystick to the left while jamming the twin multi-prop engines to full power. The boat shot forward and leapt sideways at the same time, tumbling the dog and the remaining Boudreaux bodies across the floor just as the rear sliding glass doors automatically closed and sealed shut.

As the large ship turned around and headed back due west, the _Moondance_ flattened out and planed up on its hull, and the rear retractable canopy pulled down into its stowed position.

Everywhere around the exterior of the boat, sparks from the nano-shield plating were popping and snapping like electrical equipment gone mad. The storm was getting more intense and had been beating down now for over thirteen minutes. As the boat picked up speed, it looked like sparklers were streaming out behind it, leaving a trail of smoke and electrical sizzle. The sound from the storm and the sizzle of the nano plating screamed off the boat and combined with the roar from the engines of the _Moondance_ into a cacophony of noise that sounded terrifying, as much as it sounded loud.

Marshall watched the speedometer approach seventy-five knots and keep accelerating. Then he punched up another screen with vector trajectory headings for the boat and the wall of the radiation hole overlaid on it. As he watched the screen data, the time-to-exit number switched from nine to ten minutes.

It was going up, not down.

He looked at the computer generated wall of magnetic hole on the main screen and could see that it was expanding faster than they were moving. They weren't going to make it out of the storm at this speed. Marshall realized instantly he had no choice. He reached out and lifted the safety cover on the dashboard switch then flipped the unmarked knob for the second time that day. The speedometer had just hit eighty-five knots when a deep shudder came from the bottom of the boat. It stopped after just a few moments, and the sound of the engines and the multi-props changed pitch radically. Just then, the final windows sealed shut, and the boat locked itself down into racing position. From a distance, the _Moondance_ now looked like a gigantic open water cigarette boat. Just as the silhouette became locked into racing position, the entire boat leapt three feet into the air. The multi-props folded up into the bottom of the hull just as twin jet engines, which had extended on pylon nacelles outside the large rear deck, fired into afterburner. Then the giant-sized jet on the water extended small wings from the bow of the main hull and the sides of the upper wheelhouse, which was now fully retracted onto the top of the boat. After only a second more, the boat stabilized into smooth flight and began accelerating.

As the turbo jet engines screamed open their fiery throats, the _Moondance_ lifted smoothly up another twelve feet into the air and rocketed across the ocean. Four long, graceful blades extended down from the bottom of the hull and pierced the water. Below the surface, specially shaped hydrofoils slid through the sea like dolphins and held the massive boat above the drag of the water. Four perfect wake streams fanned out behind the boat from the wing shaped pylon blades, and the ship quickly began to accelerate faster than any normal surface ship could ever achieve. Waves of electrical sparks streamed off the skin of the nano-shield plating and made the ship look like a phoenix flying fifteen feet off of the surface of the ocean at 170 knots.

He looked at the time-to-exit as it passed seventeen minutes and was still climbing. Even at this amazing speed, Marshall realized, they still weren't going to make it outside the edge of the hole before the radiation levels became dangerous on the _Moondance_. The twenty minute safety window was almost out of time.

He quickly set the auto-pilot and programmed the border of the wall into the navigational computer. Then he double-checked the sonar and ran down below. When he got to the galley, he grabbed Luke and spoke quietly to him.

"Bring everyone down below with me... and don't ask any questions."

Luke began to gather up the family Boudreaux, including the Boudreaux dog this time, and followed Marshall downstairs. They went down the final flight into the bottom of the boat and approached a solid metal door, which had never been entered by Luke. This was the hatch to the engine room, which Marshall had been adamant no one could enter but him. Marshall reached the door and opened a small panel on the side of the wall. He pressed a code on a keypad and the thick metal door opened slightly. Then he pulled the hatch all the way to the side and motioned for the group to enter. Everyone quickly made it into the room behind the door marked, Engine Room.

It was clearly not the engine room, however.

Instead, it was a long corridor which had plain metal walls with a few cabinets built flush into the sides and another similar hatch at the far end. It had plenty of room for everyone to be in it.

Marshall pulled the thick metal door shut behind him and turned around to see the group. He gave Luke a quick glance and then looked over to the family inside this mysterious corridor in the middle of his boat. The Boudreaux adults were holding each other against the wall, and the children were mostly just shaking and shivering on the floor across from them. Then Marshall looked at his nephew again. "Luke, come help me for a minute."

As he walked over to a cabinet in the wall, Luke joined him. Marshall started talking quietly to him as he opened the cabinet and removed several items.

"Take this first aid kit and begin treating the two kids. It looks like second degree burns mostly."

"What about the radiation outside? It won't matter how deep we are in your—"

Marshall interrupted him.

"This is a radiation shielded room. It's got both solid lead panels and your nano-stuff on the top and around all the sides. It's rated to handle a lot more radiation than it's getting upstairs."

Luke started to ask, but Marshall shook his head and continued.

"I'll check the mother and father and make sure they're not going into shock. Try to make sure the dog is comfortable and calm, we can't put her out of here."

Luke nodded his head in agreement as he opened the first aid kit and turned away. Marshall debated quickly if he should tell Luke the magnetic hole was growing, but he decided to wait for later. Right now he had guests on his boat that need tending to. He looked down just as Lola walked up beside him and leaned against his leg. He got a genuine smile from the canine loving as he reached down and patted her head, and she looked up and licked his hand in return. He let her finish and rubbed between her ears. Then he and Lola walked over to Dwayne and Janine. Marshall stuck out his hand to Dwayne.

"Permission to come aboard granted. My name is Marshall Tomkin, and this is my nephew, Luke, who's a doctor. If it's okay with you, he's gonna check on your children. While he's doing that, if you want, there's a bench in the wall behind you. I can lower it down, and you two won't have to stand." He looked at Luke and nodded toward the bulkhead beside the kids. "There are some cots in the wall back there. See if you can get the children into them and off the floor."

Luke lowered the closest berth and handed the topless girl a sheet to cover up. Then he began to move her and her brother off the floor.

Dwayne tried to smile as he looked between the two men who just saved his family.

Neither Luke nor Marshall could possibly know how grateful Dwayne was.

But Dwayne grabbed Marshall's hand and shook it for all it was worth, anyway.
Chapter 6

TIME REMAINING: 23 YEARS

LOCATION:

GUATEMALA, CENTRAL AMERICA

YEAR (CURRENT ERA): 1989 AD

• • • • •

She silently slipped through the darkening jungle on a path that was nothing more than a small ridge on the side of a green canopy covered mountainside; innocently oblivious to the steep drop off only inches away from her tiny body; confident in herself like a cat moving on two legs.

The little dark-haired girl was only six, but she wasn't afraid of the jungle or the mountains.

And as far as she was concerned, these mountains, which belonged to her older cousin, were nothing compared to the mountains where she came from. The jungle where she lived held temples and Mayan pyramids that had never been explored by modern archaeologists. But she and her friends had explored them. They'd found as many as they could, and for the past year, they had been climbing all over and sometimes inside of them. But then her family had to take this trip to visit her cousin in Guatemala. And that's how she ended up here; running around in the jungle pretending to chase her cousin, who she didn't really like all that much.

The little dark-haired girl had been here for over a week exploring the mountainous jungle near her cousin's village and hadn't found anything of interest other than trees, rocks, and snakes. Today, she and her cousin decided to play hide-and-seek on the other side of the valley ridge. They had been playing since lunch, but then the sun started getting low in the sky making long dark patches in the jungle where she had been looking for him. The side of the mountain wasn't as steep in this area as it had been in the places they were playing this morning. But she still had to be careful as she climbed up through the rocks and debris of the heavily jungled slopes.

The little black-haired girl knew one thing. The most enjoyable absolute wonderful time she had ever experienced in her six whole years on this planet was spent in the jungle. Nothing made her happier than looking to see if anything or anyone from the ancient past of her people had left behind something she could find and explore. This internal drive to uncover things that had been long lost would only grow as she matured. Someday, it would become the major quest in her life. And she would become world renowned in her field.

But she didn't know that right now.

All she knew was that she was tired of pretending to look for her cousin. So she climbed as quickly as she could to the top of the first ridge and then headed back down into the deep part of the jungle, to start back to the village, where her cousin already was.

She had gotten pretty good at walking quietly through the jungle. It was easy for a six-year-old girl to do, because she didn't have much mass and body weight. The problem with walking quietly through the jungle was that you tended to walk up on things that were not expecting you to be there. On more than one occasion, she had walked up on something that was not expecting to find a six-year-old girl walking up behind it. One time, she even walked up behind a jaguar. She froze in her steps when she looked up and saw the big cat, which was as tall as she was. It turned around and stared at her eye to eye, but neither of them moved or flinched. Then, according to the little girl, the jaguar smiled at her. Then he leapt into the deep jungle beside the trail and disappeared.

Many experiences like the one with the jaguar had already shaped the life of this little girl. And so many more experiences, after the one she was about to have, would determine the type of person she became.

Up ahead of her, in the quickly darkening jungle, was the next life-experience which would affect the rest of her days.

• • •

The young brown-haired Lieutenant looked back over his team and silently gave hand signals to them. He knew the bad guys he had been following for over a week were somewhere in these mountain ranges. He had personally chased them out of Panama, and he knew where they were going. The bad guys had only one thing to do. That was to get rid of the drug shipment they were hauling through the jungles of Central America into Mexico bound for the United States. He also knew the person leading that drug smuggling team was the number two most-wanted on his list of personal assassination targets. When Special Forces Command found out the number two man under Pablo Escobar was leading this shipment himself out of Panama, they brought in the Lieutenant and his team to do what they did best; hunt down bad guys and kill them.

In the six years it had been since the Lieutenant joined the Army as a lowly seventeen-year-old buck Private, he had rapidly moved up the ranks of advancement. First, he aced Bootcamp and was sent to Officer Candidate School immediately after. As a newly minted Second Lieutenant, he volunteered for Airborne training followed by Air Assault training. But before he could volunteer for more training, came the conflict in Grenada; where he promptly earned a Bronze Star. What caused this remains Classified. But it got him the attention of the Green Berets. And then his personal drive and physical prowess allowed him to move up into the ranks of the U.S. Special Forces. Now a member of the most secret elite military unit in existence, the young Lieutenant will have a remarkable career ahead of him.

If he can manage to stay alive.

His team had already come under sporadic but consistent attack since Panama. Apparently, the drug smugglers had soldiers posted in villages all along the route they were using from Panama to Mexico. Everywhere the Americans went, they were considered the enemy. In almost every place they went, they were fired upon. In almost every place they went, they were not allowed to fire back.

It was those sort of stupid orders that were beginning to piss-off the brown-haired young Lieutenant.

But he was a soldier, and he followed his orders.

He and his team were getting ready to hike down from the top of the ridge heading for the last known location of the smugglers, when he heard something coming around a small trail that was running parallel in the brush just below his team. It was moving very quietly; so quietly that his trained ears barely detected it. He stopped his team instantly with his arm and made them crouch back down out of sight. Then he gave orders through hand signals that no one should move. The point man was farther ahead on the side of the ridge, and the sound was coming up from behind the team on the trail below. So the Lieutenant had no way of knowing what was there. The soldiers bringing up the rear were higher on the ridge, and the jungle brush was too thick to see what was walking up the trail. Everyone just had to squat and wait.

The brown-haired Lieutenant was a little bit nervous. It had only been an hour since they had taken fire from what appeared to be a friendly village. They did not return fire as they escaped into the jungle and ran to the other side of the ridge to where they were now. He had just gotten his bearings on where they should go next when the sound approached them from the rear of his team. Everyone on the team now had their rifles aimed directly at the blackening path on the jungle mountainside. The brown-haired Lieutenant had told his men earlier they were free to shoot. But only if they knew for a fact it was an enemy they were firing at.

He also told them that under no other circumstances could they pull that trigger.

Suddenly, everyone in the team saw what was making the noise. A small dark-haired girl was walking down the dark path in the fading jungle light. She was remarkably quiet; almost moving stealthily. But she was looking down and not paying attention to where she was going. The young brown-haired Lieutenant instantly ordered his team to drop their weapons without saying a word; although he never took his eyes off the little girl on the path.

The team was sitting in the side of the jungle, farther above the small ridge where the trail passed by. The Lieutenant was closest to the trail, and he could clearly see her in the twilight as she approached with her head down. The girl was about to walk past the brown-haired Lieutenant, when suddenly, he jumped out of the bushes. He landed about seven feet in front of the girl in a squatting position just about eye-level with her. The girl stopped, and her eyes were wide with fear, but she did not move. The brown-haired soldier slowly reached up with his finger and placed it across his lips. But he never made the _'shhhhhh'_ sound. He hoped this was a universal sign for, "be quiet."

It worked because the frightened girl never made a whisper. She stood perfectly still staring at the face of the brown-haired Lieutenant with wide-open dark eyes. Slowly, the brown-haired Lieutenant picked up his camouflaged carbine and aimed it at the girl's head. As the Lieutenant squeezed gently on the trigger, the laser sighting beam came on, and a bright red dot popped right in the middle of her forehead. The girl still didn't move. She kept staring at the brown-haired young Lieutenant as he slowly stood up just inches above her head and fired one shot.

The shot whizzed noiselessly out of the silencer, just millimeters above her beautiful black hair, and landed twenty meters back directly between the eyes of the drug soldier who was holding an active grenade in his hands. He was just about to throw the grenade over the ridge onto the Lieutenant's team. The grenade fell from the dead man's hand and hit the ground before he did. With his brain scrambled to mush from the high-velocity rifle bullet, the smuggler's body collapsed in a heap beside the grenade. The twitching dead body of the drug soldier had only seconds remaining before the shrapnel grenade exploded.

The young brown-haired Lieutenant jumped forward in one giant leap and scooped up the tiny girl in his massive arms. Then planting his foot and pouncing into the air, he leapt into the side of the jungle with the girl wrapped under his body just as the concussion from the explosion slammed through the air over his back. The shrapnel from the grenade spread out in a blinding white sphere piercing everything around it in the jungle canopy. Shards of metal landed just inches above the team and the young brown-haired Lieutenant where he covered the young shivering black-haired girl with his muscular body. As soon as the explosion was finished, his team reacted immediately jumping down on the side of the ridge and running back into the area. A short muzzle-suppressed firefight ensued.

And then silence.

During these few moments of time, the brown-haired Lieutenant never moved from covering the girl with his body. As soon as he heard the almost silent firefight die out, he lifted himself up and looked at the tiny child. He roughly grabbed her face and turned it side to side and then checked her arms and legs to see that she was okay. Then he picked her up and jumped back down onto the ridge-side trail.

When he squatted down in front of her, he looked at her in the eyes. Then he put his fingers across his lips, again.

"Shhhhhh."

He said it slowly and quietly. Then he smiled at her as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of chocolate. He peeled back the foil on the chunky bar of sweet cocoa and made the gesture for eating. Then he winked at her and placed it in her tiny hand.

He held her hand for just a second after he closed her palm over the almost gooey chocolate. He looked deep into her eyes, and she returned the gaze. He wanted to see if she was old enough to really know what just happened. She didn't see anything other than him, and he probably scared the hell out of her. He wanted to try and make up for that. But as he looked at her looking back at him, something happened. The little girl with the black hair felt it, too. They both smiled for an authentic affectionate moment. Then, the young brown-haired Lieutenant turned her around on the path the way she had been heading. He pointed with his arm then patted her on her butt as he pushed her down the now moonlit trail.

The little black-haired girl took one look back, never knowing at that moment she had just met the man who would be responsible for her destiny.

She took off running down the trail clutching the piece of cherished chocolate, and she never looked back, again. She never stopped running, either. She didn't stop at the bottom of the jungle mountain. She didn't stop when she crossed the stream and ran into the village. She didn't stop until she got inside her uncle's house. Then she ran up to her father and threw her little six-year-old arms around his neck.

Her father would never know why he was the lucky recipient of this sudden but welcome outburst of emotion from his precocious and gifted young daughter. But he hugged her back, anyway.

• • •

The young brown-haired Lieutenant watched as the little black-haired girl ran into the darkness of the moonlit night. After he was sure she was not going to stop and come back, he returned up the trail to his men who were securing a perimeter.

The young brown-haired Lieutenant silently gathered his team and counted the victims. The drug soldier who tried to toss the grenade was blown up well past halfway on his body. He had fallen right beside the live grenade. His body absorbed much of the side-shrapnel and had actually saved three members of the young brown-haired Lieutenant's team from receiving minor wounds. The grenade blew the left side of the unlucky smuggler off. Only his right arm and leg, half of his torso, and a flap of skin which held his right ear remained. They took fingerprints of the right thumb and index finger of the headless and one-sided grenadier. They took fingerprints and used a dark-green ruggedized camera to take headshot photos of the other members in the unsuccessful ambush attack.

The Lieutenant discovered the man he was after wasn't there.

They tossed the bodies down the side of the mountain into the jungle brush below the ridge-line path. They would feed lots of things with their decomposing bodies. The bodies of the drug soldiers would never be found; only bones here and there.

The young brown-haired Lieutenant pulled his men together and prepared to move out. After what just happened with the little girl and the attempted ambush, he was more resolved now than ever before. He was going to find who he was hunting and complete his mission. He always found who he was hunting. He always completed his mission.

He would make Captain in less than a year. No one would ever know why that happened, either.

The young Lieutenant also never knew that he just met the person who would someday help him fulfill his destiny. She would also watch him die.

Although neither one knew it at the time, twenty-three years later, they would come together again.

And when they did, it would be to rescue the God in the Clear Rock.
Chapter 7

T-MINUTES: 50 HOURS 30 MINUTES

LOCATION:

2,600 MILES WEST OF MOONDANCE

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 9:48 AM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 15:48 GMT

• • • • •

In her dreams, she doesn't know it's a man.

In her dreams, she is still a six-year-old girl. And to her, the man is not a man. He is a mythical beast of the jungle with skin the multicolor of leaves and bark. And the arms and legs of the mythical beast of the jungle are the same color as the pattern on the wondrous creature's face. And the strange, dark staff that he holds in his hands, with the glowing red light on the top that silently spits fire out of the end, is covered in the same multicolor pattern of the beast of the jungle. Only the beautiful smile of the mythical creature is not the color of the jungle.

And his eyes.

His eyes are the color of the sky. But not the bright blue sky of a summer day. They are the dark gray sky of a foreboding God who has charged the mythical beast of the jungle to save the little girl with the black hair from the flash of light and boom in the night that hurt her ears for days so many years ago. And the jungle beast did save her. Then he rewarded her with chocolate and sent her home to be with her father. And then she is covered with a warm feeling of love.

That's how she remembered it in her dreams.

But she knows that's not really what happened. Marissé had never forgotten that night; not one minute or second of it. She had never forgotten how she ended up in the protection of the mythical beast of the jungle. She never knew how he had saved her, or what he had saved her from. She only knew that she had felt safe, even though she was frightened. She'd never felt that safe since then. She unconsciously reached up and felt the locket that was around her neck. It was the only piece of jewelry on her entire body. In fact, it was the only piece of jewelry she had in the entire camp. It was damn close to the only piece of jewelry she owned.

She wasn't that six-year-old girl any more. She was twenty-nine now, and that little girl was twenty-three birthdays earlier. Long before she returned to the jungles of her childhood home as a real archeologist, she knew that her mythical beast of the jungle was a soldier; most likely American. And she knew that the unknown soldier had saved her life from some threat, which was likely there because of him in the first place. But she also knew the kind soldier had made a great effort to save her life and make her feel safe; above and beyond what he needed to do.

She had never forgotten that. That was the way Marissé was. It was just how her brain worked. Once it went in her head, it never came out. This was a skill that aided her immensely in her academic pursuit of the single-minded goal she'd had in her life since the time she was born on the green jungle peninsula of the Yucatan. Now that she had achieved that first goal, she was setting even higher goals where her single-minded focus would be valuable.

The little black-haired girl, who ran around these very jungle hills and ruins as a child, had grown up to be a beautiful ebony-haired woman. And that woman now presided over an enormous archeological dig that was her very own. And the pyramid they were working on was one she discovered herself.

Doctor Marissé Sanchez stood on the edge of a mountain of rubble inside the massive pyramid that her team of local Mayan descendants were unearthing for the first time in almost five-hundred years. As she looked down, she realized she didn't have anything that could be used to wipe sweat off her dripping face. And at this moment, she was soaking wet from sweat. She was wearing a light brown tank top that was stained dark from her glistening olive skin. Long past being modest, Marissé had no bra under the thin cotton tank top. Her sweat made the wet material of the shirt mold closely to the skin of her torso and perfectly shaped breasts like blotchy skin-colored paint. Even in the humid jungle, she was beautiful. Her heritage, which was descended from the great people of her Meso-American home, had blended with the modern European genes which had been spreading over the globe during the last two millennia and produced a beauty of unequalled splendor, even among her own ancient peoples.

Marissé was not just beautiful, she was stunning.

And she would have looked like she belonged on the cover of _National Geographic Magazine_ if it weren't for the dusty black baseball cap pulled high on her head with the bright orange emblem of the University of Miami on the front of the cap. This made her look like she was a pitcher for a woman's softball team.

She reached down and grabbed the water bottle sitting next to her foot, unscrewed the cap and tossed back her head. The water gushed down her throat, slightly dripping down her chin as she extended her neck in an over exaggerated effort to help the bottle relinquish the last of its drops of purified liquid life.

Then like a construction worker, she used her left forearm to wipe her mouth dry; leaving streaks of brown mud across both her face and her arm. She followed that with a loud pleasurable sigh. The only thing missing was a good belch to finish the image of a construction worker drinking a beer. Suddenly, Marissé's eyes got really wide. Then, her body and torso tightened slightly, and she busted out a long manly burp.

Now, the image was complete.

Jacinto looked up from a few feet below her, where he was overseeing the workers removing the last of the boulders from the expansive entrance to the lower levels in the pyramid.

"Nice one, Boss. You sure that's not beer you have in that bottle?"

Marissé was standing on the pile of rubble that her crew and Jacinto had been removing for the past week. She wanted to completely clear the entrance down into the levels below. She already knew what was down there. They'd been in and out of the lower levels for the entire week. It was a gruesome discovery. That was why she spent the last week taking the rubble out of the entrance rather than going back down below. Like her, she knew most of her crew were local descendants of the Mayans. Their ancestors were the ones who once built and inhabited this lost-city pyramid complex in the middle of the jungle of her homeland.

So out of respect, and a desire to keep up morale, she limited access to the underground vaults and put her entire team on another task. Marissé did not care that it put her schedule back a week in digging. She knew these people needed time to come to grips with what they had seen with their own eyes. And clearing the forty foot wide entrance, which went from the main mezzanine to the subterranean complex below, was good physical work. Marissé hoped it would draw their attention away from the horrors that must be going through their minds. And it would give her a head start on preparations for a detailed archeological exploration of the layers of floors and rooms below them. She and Jacinto were planning to begin the first phase in just a few hours. She looked down at him now, after slowly relishing her gastric announcement.

"No. After last night, no more cerveza... No mas, por favor."

Jacinto was still looking up at her and chuckled.

"Ahhh Boss, they were Corona Lights. You're such a pussy."

Marissé gave him a playfully scolding look. "Yes. But this pussy is still your boss and your professor... so shut-up and get back to work." Then she pointed a long finger at him and shook it up and down.

Jacinto went along with his verbal lashing. "As you say, Boss." He turned and raised up his hand in a playful mock motion of swinging a bullwhip at the workers who were all a few feet below him, while making the noise of a snapping whip with his mouth.

"Hurry up you slaves... Get back to work... You heard the Egyptian Pharaoh Princess from Mayan Mérida... She says you're not working fast enough." His whipping motions became even more exaggerated.

Marissé looked around and smiled genuinely. The humor was doing everyone some good. The men were finally smiling and talking again while they worked. Jacinto was still turned toward the diggers and pretending to beat them with a bullwhip. When he looked back at his professor and mentor, she quickly dumped the smile and put on a scolding look of a disappointed teacher.

"Jacinto, I need to check your transcripts again for your history prerequisites. You're confusing all my loyal subjects here by telling them the Egyptian Pharaohs knew of the Mayans. And although I do love the comparison to Cleopatra... it'll be me who's holding a real bullwhip if you don't get the last of this rubble cleared from my beautiful parquet floor. So I can look at the splendor of my magnificent entrance to the basement down below. Where my friend, and historically challenged pupil, you and I will be going very shortly to finish checking out—"

Marissé had begun speaking like a saint on a mountain during her mini-monologue. But she suddenly stopped when she realized what she was about to say. The last thing she needed right now was to get everyone thinking about it, again. She quickly recovered and smiled earnestly at him this time. Then she pointed her finger, again.

"What you might be able to finish your PhD on."

Jacinto gave her an understanding smile in return. He knew what was bothering her. Everyone at the camp had been troubled by what they found below. But he also knew that it was his job to go down there with his friend and professor to help her find an explanation for what all of them had seen. He stuck his hands out and shrugged.

"What? You mean I don't just get my degree 'cuz I agreed to come out here in this overgrown _Land of the Lost_ with you?"

"Look, mi Cubano consentido, nobody gets a free ride from me. No matter how much you try to ply me with Corona beer... light or not."

Just then, the rock pile Marissé was standing on gave way. A foot-sized stone slid forward and down taking her right boot with it. She stuck out her arms and the now airborne foot, then tried to catch her balance on her left leg. She leaned forward and then to the side. Then she twisted back to the front, like a doll bending at the waist. Slowly, she stretched out and arched slightly to the left before she caught her balance. When she finally stopped moving, she was leaning forward with her hands stretched out to the sides, and the balancing leg was stuck out to the back. She looked like a gymnast on the beam trying to stick a one-legged arabesque landing.

The crowd of men lit up with applause, but it sounded like slapping two slippers together.

Marissé looked over and saw the entire dig crew had stopped and were now clapping their gloved hands. Then she looked down and saw that her tank top was hanging wetly from her chest. Her perfect C-cup breasts were now clearly visible to the entire room of men. Marissé didn't move. She stayed in her partial arabesque position looking at her exposed breasts.

"Well, hello girls."

Then she melodramatically stood up and put her feet firmly on the rock pile. She curtsied and bowed her head like a proper lady for a moment more. Just as she was about to tell everyone that the peep-show was now over, and they were all free to return to work, she heard the sound.

Like a distant electrical sizzle coming from the sky, the sound drifted into the open mezzanine level forty feet above the overgrown plaza floor. Suddenly, everyone heard screaming and loud yells of pain.

Marissé jumped off the rock pile and took off for the side opening of the mezzanine. When she got there, she slid on her boots across the last few feet of dirt and stone; stopping just before she exited the overhang of the pyramid. Outside, the sky was a bright shade of lavender and vermillion. The strange color stretched as far as you could see in all directions. As she watched the bands of color streak across the sky, she could suddenly tell the intermittent cloud cover was rapidly disappearing.

Then all the clouds were gone.

After they disappeared, it got sunny, and the aurora colors were too bright to look at.

Marissé knew this was unusually bright, even for the tropics. As she looked down from the glowing clear sky, she saw where the cries of pain were coming from.

Several workers had been down on the plaza removing debris. All of them were local natives and their skin had been hammered by the intense Central American sunlight their whole lives. Many of them had dark tans from constant work in the daylight with no shirts. As long as the men had plenty of water and some shade to siesta in during the hottest part of the day, they were fine. It was only a little before ten in the morning. Although she and her working crew were hot and sweaty inside the pyramid, the day had not yet become stifling.

But on the plaza in front of her, several workers that were shirtless were now yelling in pain and running for the protection of whatever shelter they could find. Most of them made it into the jungle on the plaza sides or into the many popup tents that dotted the huge mountaintop courtyard. Two other workers were carrying rubble down the side of the steep pyramid and were about halfway down the forty feet to the bottom when the aurora began. They dropped the rocks they were carrying when the skin on their back and arms began to sunburn in front of their eyes.

Both men took off running back up the pyramid and now jumped past Marissé into the protection of the mezzanine. They almost slid into the men who had quickly followed Marissé over to the opening. As the two sunburned laborers stood in front of the group, their exposed skin continued to redden visibly while everyone watched. One of the other workers reached out and slowly pressed his finger onto one of their bright red arms. It left a light pink circle the size of a quarter that quickly faded back into the deep red of his sunburned skin.

The burned man almost backhanded his workmate. But suddenly, the skin on his body started to sting even more.

Jacinto jumped past the fried workers and looked out the opening at the sky.

"Yo Boss, that's one of those solar showers that've been giving the whole world an aurora. But it's never been this bright before."

Marissé turned from the injured men in front of her and joined Jacinto to look out at the cloudless pink sky.

"It's never caused anything like this to happen, either." She pointed down at the empty plaza and her men hiding from the daylight. As they both watched the light show from their pyramid perch in the Yucatan, they couldn't see what was happening in orbit around their beautiful blue planet.

It was probably best they didn't know.

For the next hour, Marissé and her men sat almost silently and watched the sky. The colors of the aurora faded in and out and wavered over the jungle for as far as they could see.

It actually faded in and out over the entire sunlit side of the planet.

But Marissé, Jacinto and her Mayan descendant crew didn't know that. They just knew the daily siesta had come early today.

And tomorrow, all of them would wear long sleeve shirts...

And a hat...
Chapter 8

TIME REMAINING: 468 YEARS

LOCATION:

CENTRAL AMERICA, MAYAN YUCATAN

YEAR (CURRENT ERA): 1544 AD

• • • • •

"Pick him up again."

The Captain of the marauders spat the words out in Spanish as he stepped away from the barely moving figure on the floor in front of him.

Conquistador Don Marco Fernando Castillo de Sevilla wasn't actually enjoying himself, not any longer. You could say he was not a happy man; if you could call him a man. He was more like a monster. Sweat was pouring off him from the effort he'd been putting into the torture of the current victim of his attention. He took a long drink of water and then wiped his hands and face as he looked back toward the two men who were just completing his order.

The last surviving member of the High-Council of Mayan Priests was on his knees being held up by his arms by two very large Conquistadors. The Spaniards had removed all of their armor. The heat of the jungle was just too unbearable to keep it on any longer than was necessary for actual combat. In front of the kneeling Priest was a pile of severed human tongues. There were over two-hundred and sixty tongues in the grotesque pile of lumpy fly-covered flesh.

Don Marco Fernando grabbed the translator, a frightened old Mayan man who himself looked like he had recently been the target of Don Marco Fernando's wrath, and threw him in front of the Priest. The translator had been dragged along with the mercenary Conquistadors as they had been ravaging the Yucatan peninsula for the past several years. Everyone and everything that was not Spanish in origin was used and abused like cheap property. And that included the translator. The translator will not survive the end of the week. But Don Marco Fernando won't care. He'll just get another translator. He and his men have been on a holy dual quest. First, and foremost, was to find the rumored hoards of gold and gems these savages had been moving and hiding from him. And second, was the complete extermination of this vermin race of savages in this cursed and foul land of jungle and rot.

The Mayan culture was in its final throes. Don Marco Fernando was there to help it along its way to extinction.

"Ask this savage one more time where the gold is hidden," Don Marco Fernando told the translator as he stood over him. "Ask him what was in the box that was carried into the big pyramid... and where did they hide it?" Then the Conquistador looked at the old man. "You get him to tell me, or I'll make you pay for this trickery, you worthless cur. You told me this was where the Mayans keep their greatest treasure... but I've found nothing."

The old Mayan translator quickly looked to the broken Priest. He spoke in the native Mayan tongue, but his voice was barely over a whisper.

"Please... tell him where you keep the gold. Give him whatever you have. He will not stop until he finds it."

The last surviving member of the Mayan High-Council of Priests didn't lift his head. He could barely focus on the pile of tongues in front of him; tongues of his friends and his relatives. He knew that his tongue would be joining that pile shortly, because he did not have the answer that the Conquistador was so desperately looking for. He did not know where there was any amount of gold to satisfy the greedy Spanish invaders.

The old man continued. "You must tell him what you hid in the pyramid. He knows of the Mayan treasure. Please... you've seen what he will do." He glanced over at the pile of severed tongues on the floor. "No gold or treasure can be worth your life."

The Priest did not raise his head, nor did he move.

The half-dead Priest knew that every piece of gold and gems had already been confiscated. There were no more stores of gold or precious stones anywhere on this mountaintop complex. But it was no use trying to explain that. It would only result in your tongue being separated from your head; possibly while you were still alive to see it.

As for the other treasure, he was sure the murderous Spaniards did not know of the precious stone tablet that held his God. And the treasure must have successfully been stored in the secret room, or else they would not still be asking for it. Which meant his God was safe. These beasts would not find and steal his God. And he would not betray his God, even at the risk of death and dismemberment. This final thought brought a flash of peace and serenity to the last surviving member of the Mayan High-Council of Priests.

But it didn't last long.

Just as the half-dead man was about to let go and surrender to impending death, he heard the screams.

They were coming from a couple of rooms away. All of the young girls were gathered up by the foul Conquistadors after the massacre had subsided. They were held in a large group all night, like a corral of horses, just outside this set of rooms in the communal living quarters of the temple plaza. The group of girls were being held right next to the huge pile of bodies from Don Marcos Fernando's tortuous tantrums. All night and all morning long, the stripped naked girls were led by small groups into the closest room to the trapped and frightened young Mayans. On the other side of the barricade, a line of half-naked Conquistadors extended out of the door to the room.

The scream pierced the air again. The Priest recognized this scream. The last surviving member of the Mayan High-Council of Priests heard his virgin baby girl, of only twelve, being raped by the filthy stinking long-haired men with metal skin. This was all he could stand. The last surviving member of the Mayan High-Council of Priests; the last man on Earth that knew the real reason the Maya were able to achieve all that they had achieved over the two millennia they had thrived; the last man who knew of the existence and location of the God in the Clear Rock; exploded up and charged the gruesome monster who had been torturing him for the last twenty minutes.

With every muscle in his body responding to his fury, the Priest threw up his arms and lunged toward the neck of Conquistador Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla, who was only a few feet in front of him.

But he never reached him.

Although the Priest was able to pull his arms free from the loose grip of the Conquistadors who stood by his side, Don Marco Fernando reacted before the naked Priest could even blink. As the wide-eyed Priest looked down, he could see the thin blade of the Spanish steel sticking in through his stomach moments before he felt the first pain. The blade pierced all the way through him and stuck out his back about a foot.

The Priest had only seconds to live as he watched the evil grimace of Conquistador Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla grow wider. Then Don Marco Fernando lifted the blade up with both hands and severed the spine of the last surviving member of the Mayan High-Council of Priests.

After holding the weight of the Priest on the sword for a few seconds, he pushed the man noiselessly off of his dull bloody blade. The Priest collapsed in a paralyzed heap on the floor as the Conquistador Commander cursed under his breath. The two Conquistadors who had been holding the Priest quickly reached down and grabbed his shoulders again and lifted him up. The man's useless and paralyzed legs stayed limply attached to the floor, and his head rolled listlessly forward. One of the torturers pulled the Priest's head back by the braided hair on his head. The Priest's eyes rolled uselessly around in their sockets, but he was still barely alive.

Conquistador Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla then walked up to the helpless and dying Priest. Without saying a word, he reached out and roughly pulled down the man's jaw that was partially hanging open. Then he used a pair of iron pliers to grab his tongue and pull it unnaturally out of his head. Don Marco stepped around to the side, then used the same Spanish steel blade to sever the tongue of the quickly dying man.

He tossed the tongue on the pile and silently motioned his men. The two Conquistadors balanced the body of the Mayan Priest on his own stooped torso. One of them lifted up the hair of the tongueless man, straightening out his neck, while the other man stepped back. Then Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla spun around with his sword and swung it like a bat it into the neck of the Priest. But the blade only made it a little over halfway through, leaving the steel sword sticking out the side of the paralyzed man's throat. Don Marco cursed as he pulled out the blade.

"Damn it to the fires of Hell... I despise this cursed wet land. You cannot even keep a blade sharp in all this wet foulness."

As Don Marco inspected the blade of his sword, the marionette Conquistador let go of the Priest's hair and his body collapsed back onto the floor. The head of the Priest flipped over and back, only connected by the piece of skin and muscle that Don Marco's blade was too dull to cut through. The Priest's head flopped against his shoulder and stared out from upside-down dead eyes as the final beats of his dying heart gushed blood up from the stump of his neck.

Don Marco Fernando walked away without looking back and handed the sword to another bloody Conquistador standing by the door.

"Have the blade sharpened before I return... And clean up this mess."

Then Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla walked out of the room. Behind him, the two guards picked up the mutilated body of the last no-longer-surviving member of the Mayan High-Council of Priests and tossed him out the door of the room onto the pile of other bodies. Then they went and got another living victim from the few remaining in the plaza.

Conquistador Don Marco Fernando was now furious. He'd barely found any gold at all on his plundering trek through the Yucatan. He had decided that the Mayans must have been sending out warnings and moving the gold before he and his men arrived. This was supposed to be the most holy of the savage Mayan cities. He was sure this was where the savages hid the gold. He was certain of it. But he and his men had found nothing, yet. He would make all of the Mayans pay for not giving him the gold. He would make the old man translator pay, too. He was going to make everyone pay before it was all over. But right now, Don Marco Fernando was tired of killing and torturing. And he knew just what would pick up his spirits.

He headed toward the sound of the screams.

As Don Marco walked into the room, the screams got louder. On the other side of the makeshift bordello, he could see the line of his men stretching out the door into the plaza. All of them were drinking and getting ready for their part in the traditional raping of the girls. None of the armor that had protected the marauders were on the sweaty soldiers of fortune. Many of them barely had anything on at all. The heat in the huge room filled with blankets and tables and beds was nearly unbearable.

But the purpose was clear.

Don Marco Fernando elbowed his way into the dark torch-lit room. On the floor next to the side wall, were the bodies of two dead thirteen year old girls who had been raped and killed, then stacked on each other like firewood. There were many other girls nearby who were all being used by various Conquistadors on items that had been thrown around the room for that purpose. Four Conquistadors were using four girls on a stone table in front of Don Marco. The table banged against the wall in loud irregular thumps, as they viciously raped the girls. Every few minutes, the men would pick up the girls and throw them around, tossing their naked and catatonic bodies between each other like full-size dolls.

Except for the one currently screaming, all of the other girls were long past making any noise or putting up any fight. The two mutilated bodies against the wall were all the evidence the now quiet girls needed to know about what would happen to anyone that did not submissively go along. Don Marco Fernando walked up to the man who was raping the girl who was screaming. She was the only girl in the room making noise. She was hysterical.

Commander Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla yanked his soldier off the girl by the hair.

"What the hell is wrong with you."

The girl was bent over the rough stone table on her belly and didn't really know what just happened. She only knew the horrible smelly man just left her no-longer-virgin twelve year old body. Her screaming dropped to a whimpering cry. But before she could relax, Conquistador Don Marco slipped down his pants and grabbed the frightened brown-skinned Mayan girl by the waist.

"She doesn't want it like an animal... She wants it like a good Christian."

He flipped her over until she landed hard on her back. Then he grabbed her legs and began to enter her ripped and bloody crotch.

The frightened brown-skinned Mayan girl tried to use her arms to push the new smelly man off her. And she started screaming again. Don Marco pulled back his one mighty fist and smashed-in the face of the twelve year old girl. She immediately went unconscious from the impact, which shoved the bones of her nose into her young brain and broke out all of the front teeth in her upper jaw.

"And that's how you stop that noise."

Don Marco continued on with his business, now that his prey was no longer fighting. The unconscious little girl would drown on her own blood from the smashed-in teeth in her mouth before the Conquistador Captain finished.

After a few minutes, Don Marco Fernando got up off the now dead daughter of the last no-longer-surviving member of the Mayan High-Council of Priests. He pulled up his trousers, then walked toward the exit to the plaza.

As he made his way past one of the many tables and beds in the huge room, he recognized Franciscan Friar Antonio Miguel. Friar Antonio had accompanied Don Marco Fernando on his sea voyage to this wretched land. Friar Antonio was charged with converting these idiot savages into Christians.

"I see you're well into your next convert Father." Don Marco smiled at his own sick humor as he walked toward the door to the plaza.

Franciscan Friar Antonio Miguel was just a few feet away from his old friend Conquistador Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla. Friar Antonio had just entered the young boy in front of him on the pile of blankets on the stone table, as the Conquistador Captain walked by.

"If it is God's will, then I shall tame these savages one soul at a time."

The Friar's shoulders moved in time with the stroking of his bare waisted hips. In front of the rhythmically challenged man of God was a naked young boy of only eleven. The boy was tiny compared to the table the Friar had his unholy convert bent over. The boy's small legs hung loosely over the edge of the stone table. They bounced back and forth as the Friar used his young body.

Quatze's face was turned to the side, and his eye looked like it was hanging out of its socket. His head banged forward with each stroke of the monster behind the young boy. He was nearly in total shock now. The concussion from the shank of the Conquistador's sword, right after he killed his cousin an hour earlier, had left him mostly in a daze and blind on one side.

He wasn't thinking of his father any more. That was yesterday. The only thing he could think of right now was the Mayan God Itzamna. When the boys opened the Box yesterday in the pyramid, Quatze had seen the image of his God appear in his mind. It was as clear as if he had seen him with his eyes.

And then the image of a beautiful woman appeared in his mind. She smiled at Quatze and then he felt better.

Then the Head Priest stormed into the chamber and ran off with the Box. The good feeling left the boy and fear immediately replaced it. That was when he was thinking about his father and the mines where his family was still living. That was yesterday. It seemed liked forever to Quatze.

Now, as he endured this humiliation at the hands of these unholy beasts, he could only think of the beautiful woman and his God Itzamna. They would come to rescue him. He knew it. He would only have to wait. They would come; Quatze prayed.

But, they would not come and rescue the boy.

No one would come and rescue anyone.

The next day, on Don Marco Fernando's orders, all the remaining natives were killed, even the children.

More than one of his men enjoyed this immensely.

When the massacre was complete, Don Marco had his men move each of the bodies deep into the big pyramid at the end of the plaza. He had searched in vain for the wooden box his men had reported one of the savages carried across the plaza and into the huge pyramid. In anger and retaliation, Don Marco ordered his men to do something that would have angered the God in the Clear Rock, if she had known. What he and his men did, would have angered any god. It was godless and evil; as was Don Marco.

When he and his men finished their gruesome desecration, the vile and foul Conquistador Don Marco Fernando smiled at his ultimate act of inhuman cruelty to the Mayan people he so despised.

Then he had his men use their horses to pull over the walls and motif columns that separated the massive entrance to the wide stairs leading down into the pyramid from the main terrace. After that, the lower half of the pyramid was no longer accessible from the outside. The jungle would eventually seal off the rest of the pyramid. Don Marco Fernando wished he could topple the whole damn pyramid and every building on the complex.

But instead, Conquistador Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla gave his men one last order.

"Burn it... burn it all."

And they did. Everything flammable was torched. Everything else was destroyed by hand. And then he and his men packed up on their horses and left the burning and smoldering holy temple to rot in the jungle. It would be taken over entirely in only a few years, and it would not be relinquished by the green overgrowth for almost five centuries.

The God in the Clear Rock would wait patiently inside the secret room where the Royal Guards from the last sect of the great Mayan people who knew of her existence had so carefully hidden her.

She would wait.

Because the God in the Clear Rock knew that rescuers would come.

They always come.

So, she would wait.

The God in the Clear Rock would have to wait almost five hundred years to be rescued.

But five hundred years are nothing to a God...

• • •

Conquistador Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla would soon leave the Yucatan with his band of raiding mercenaries. On Royal Spanish orders, he sailed to the South American continent looking for that hoard of gold he so desperately believed was out there waiting for him to find or steal. He was heading toward Incan territory when his troop was faced with crossing a large but slow moving river in the Amazon rainforest. He took off his armor to lighten the load on his horse and then pushed the reluctant animal into the water intending to drag a rope behind him and attach it to the other side.

He never made it to the other shore.

As his horse got to the chest deep point in the water, it reared up and tossed Don Marco out into the murky brown river. The dismounted Conquistador plunged down deep into the warm water and tried to pull his legs underneath him. He shoved his feet into the muddy bottom and lunged up toward the surface. When he got his head out of the water, he was facing downstream. He twisted around and then tried to stroke back toward the shore. But as soon as he got into a flat swimming position on the surface of the slowly moving river, a giant thirty-foot anaconda came up behind him from the muddy bottom. The snake was so large, it stayed coiled on the bottom of the ten foot deep river as it rapidly surged its monster head upward. It stretched opened its gigantic mouth, then grabbed both legs of the swimming man and swallowed him in one gulp.

The enormous snake didn't bother to constrict Don Marco before he engulfed him, because the Conquistador had been kind enough to stretch out for the aquatic predator. All the anaconda had to do was come up from behind this odd pink monkey and scoop him into its open mouth. The gigantic snake's momentum carried the slippery, wet body of the almost naked man deep into the belly of the water-borne monster.

Don Marco's hands were both extended above his head when the snake enveloped his body from below in one swift lunge from its hiding place at the muddy bottom. The Spaniard had taken a breath as he lurched for the shore from the middle of the river, but it was the last one he would ever get. He had quickly closed his eyes when he saw the snake's massive head and teeth scrape over his face, and he dared not open them now. Fully extended in a diving position, the slimy stomach muscles of the man-eating snake were squeezing too tightly for him to be able to pull down his arms or even bend his legs.

He was trapped in the belly of the giant anaconda like an animal stretched on a roasting spit.

The final breath that Conquistador Don Marco Fernando was holding in his constricted lungs would last him for almost two whole minutes. During which time he was aware he was inside the belly of a monster as it swam away from safety and assistance of his men. He could not even try to scream as he waited in terror for death. The digestive juices of the snake poured over his face and his eyes. He could feel as the burning liquid entered his nostrils and ears. Don Marco tried to tremble in fear and panic for what he knew was happening to him, but he couldn't even do that. He did not even know what type of monster it was that had eaten him.

The only image his dying brain could come up with was that of a mythical dragon.

As the air in his lungs began to force its way out, he finally let go of his breath.

The snake instantly constricted its stomach tighter as the panicked, half-naked man released his last puff of air. Don Marco Fernando could no longer take a breath, even if he tried. The darkness closed in around Conquistador Don Marco Fernando Castilla de Sevilla.

But it didn't close down fast enough to stop the terror in the bright final flashes of the murdering mercenary's mind.

The giant snake would take five weeks to digest him.

Every single one of the raping and murdering men in the Conquistador's company would die in this strange land. Franciscan Friar Antonio Miguel would die from complications of the candirú, formally known as Vandellia cirrhosa; an Amazonian fish that crawls up your penis and dies. Which, if untreated, leads to an excruciating and gruesomely painful death.

When the native Indians informed him of what his condition was and what would happen to him, Friar Antonio cut off his own penis in an attempt to stop the pain and save his life.

It didn't work. He died holding his own severed penis.

Karma is a bitch.
Chapter 9

T-MINUS: 48 HOURS 49 MINUTES

LOCATION:

MAYAN ARCHEOLOGICAL DIG, YUCATAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 11:19 AM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 17:19 GMT

• • • • •

"Go back to town. You should've gone in with the rest of the crew. I'll be fine."

Marissé was gathering equipment at the base of the pyramid while she spoke to Jacinto.

He didn't budge.

She sent all the workers home a short time earlier. She told Jacinto to go back to town, but he wouldn't leave. She'd already decided she was going to spend the rest of the day and night here. Unlike her day laborers, she and Jacinto had their own sleeping tents next to the main work tents on the side of the plaza. She rented a small house in the nearest town, which was where they normally stayed. But she sometimes stayed out here alone; actually pretty often. Marissé wasn't afraid of the jungle. Anything that she couldn't handle with her fifteen-round Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter, she would take care of with her eight-round Mossberg Tactical Auto-loader 12 gauge combat shotgun.

Marissé reached down and checked the holster on her hip. The Smith had a nice, solid feel when it was strapped on her side. Even though she had no reason to take it into the bowels of her pyramid, she had an overwhelming urge to take it, anyway.

It was only early afternoon, but she was getting that feeling again; the feeling that something was about to happen. That was the reason she sent everyone home. Jacinto knew this. That's why he didn't leave.

Marissé knew it, too. And she respected her friend and apprentice for his defiance, especially considering the circumstances.

The solar-shower aurora show lasted for about an hour. But after the storm was over, the men in her crew began to get worried about their families back in the villages. They'd cleared the entire mezzanine to the subterranean levels, but the pile of rocks and broken columns were still on the main level. It would take them days to haul it down and over to the rubble pile. That job would still be here for her men when they returned, tomorrow. So she sent everyone home for the day. In the meantime, she'd decided that she was going to go down below as soon as everyone was out of the camp and on their way home.

Everyone, except Jacinto.

Now he was smiling and shaking his head as he stood there with his arms crossed. Finally, he started tapping his toe. Marissé gave in.

"Fine, you can stay. But don't just stand around gawking. Pick up half this equipment and let's get going."

Now Jacinto moved. He quickly gathered up two full armloads of the equipment and took off up the pyramid.

Marissé chuckled while she watched him scramble up the steep side. _'At least now, I'll have some company,'_ she thought to herself as she grabbed the remaining equipment and quickly followed Jacinto up the side of the pyramid. She appreciated the company most of all. Jacinto was a smart kid. Actually, he wasn't a kid. He was twenty-five, which was still mostly a kid. But Jacinto was an excellent research assistant, even considering the late-night talking and speculation sessions he sometimes forced on her. He would let his still-childish imagination run wild and would start to hypothesize crazy ideas. But she didn't really mind. It was a structured form of free-thought-synthesis, something Marissé had been familiar with since her freshman year in college.

She and Jacinto topped the last flight of stairs and stepped onto the mezzanine level. They made their way around the large piles of rocks and stone debris then turned and walked to an open section in the middle. In front of them, was the cleared expansive entrance to the stairs which went down to the first subterranean level.

_'These stairs were never meant to be opened, again,'_ Marissé thought to herself somewhat hesitantly as she stopped at the top of the stone walkway and peered into the darkness below. Her mind was suddenly racing. Why was this so hard for her? She'd seen lots of things over her lifetime. Some were horrible things that she wished she'd never seen, but she always managed to handle it fine. Somehow, this was different.

Jacinto must have felt her hesitation. "Hey boss, you okay?"

He stepped up beside her at the threshold to the lower pyramid chambers and handed her a glowing LED flood stick. Then he looked down the dark tunnel and back at her. Marissé shook her head before she answered.

"Yeah... I just get a really bad feeling every time I go down there. Some serious evil happened here."

Jacinto laughed at her.

"Yeah whatever, Indiana Joan... You got your Smith and Wesson firestick, so let's go." Then he started down the stairs as his water bottles banged against his legs with each of his double-steps.

Marissé snapped out of her zone and yelled down after him.

"I prefer Cleopatra personally... or we can go back to Your Majesty, my young impertinent subject." She could only see the glow from his LED lamps now, which was probably best.

Jacinto shouted back up as he jogged down the last few steps. "Whatever you say..." Then he added, "Your Majesty."

Marissé chuckled out loud. That was one of the reasons why she loved having this guy around. He always kept her laughing. She walked over to a console in front of a series of large, flexible air ducts of varying diameter all heading into the wide staircase and down into the darkness, like a bunch of enormous worms. She had her men install ventilation fans and ducts into the pyramid over the past week. She and Jacinto personally ran the fat tubes of air-conditioning all the way through the entire lower complex. The diesel generator was set up safely away from the pyramid on the ground-level plaza. That would keep any exhaust gas from gathering in the underground chambers. She also had emergency air testing gauges all over the place. She'd lost a colleague when he suffocated in an excavation deep in the South American mountains. The exhaust gas from his ventilation system generator had been caught by draft wind and ended up filling the tunnel with deadly carbon monoxide. They tried to climb out the ladder, but they never made it to the top.

Marissé double checked the wind direction one last time. The generator was currently downwind and forty feet below the intake vents. She turned the start switch on the panel console then just barely heard the generator start-up down on the plaza. Then she heard the fans turn on behind her. A second later, she saw air being pumped through the ventilation ducts down into the dark stairs. Everything seemed okay.

After she finished her final visual check of the artificial air system, she took off down the stone staircase. At the bottom of the main flight, she stopped and switched on her headlamp then entered the large room. As she approached one of the many large columns which supported the subterranean ceiling, she thought the design looked too precarious to stand. And yet, here it was. It had been standing for a thousand years, possibly thousands more than that. Marissé was the one who found this mountain pyramid. She knew more about it than any other human on the planet. She also knew that because of what she and her crew found in this basement horror show, she may never know what actually happened here or what this place was even for.

Whoever pushed the columns and the walls into the stairs from the mezzanine above had hoped to bury the levels below. They were only interested in keeping out humans, however. They did an adequate job of closing off the stairs, but they did not hermetically seal the passage to below. Once the complex was abandoned, the jungle began to cover over the entire pyramid and the mountaintop plaza. But before the mezzanine entrance was sealed over by growth, probably two or three decades of water and mud ran down the overgrowth and surpassed the advanced drainage system built into the overhangs and the stepped-sides of the massive man-made mountain. Seven or eight inches of dried mud and dirt covered the entire floor of the main hall one level down from the mezzanine, which was where they now were.

As she stepped next to Jacinto, they looked out into the room with their handheld LED flashlights and battery operated headlamps. The dried dirt on the floor was hard at the moment. It wasn't the rainy season. Actually, it was always rainy season in the Yucatan. But it had been unusually dry this December. So the dirt was not mud.

As they started forward into the room, she pointed down for Jacinto to step aside from a pile of dirty looking dried gunk in a strangely squarish shape. This was why it was fortunate it wasn't rainy when they finally opened this room. In the few weeks since they got into this first level, Marissé had been able to look closely at the square-shaped piles of dried gunk, which were everywhere. The entire floor, every corner and crevasse, was covered with piles of the strange material. She had no idea what they were. Then she found a relatively undamaged small pile, which had been in the far back corner away from the rainwater that seeped its way in from above. But when she finally examined the strange squarish shaped pile of dried gunk, she realized what the stacks were and almost got sick to her stomach.

They were Mayan Codices; books filled with Mayan writing.

There was more Mayan writing in this pyramid than the total amount that existed anywhere else in the world, by an order of magnitude. There was more Mayan writing than she could imagine in her wildest dreams. Marissé couldn't know, but the destroyed store of Mayan Codices that she had discovered was the Holy Library of the Mayans. Like the fabled Library at Alexandria, this massive collection of writing covered the entire Mayan civilization and history from the very beginning. It had a complete record of everything the Mayans were and had learned. It also included a complete description of the complex mathematics developed by the Mayans.

Mayan math was based on twenty not ten, like our current common system of numbers and math. This unique number system, combined with their knowledge and use of the numeral zero, allowed the Mayans to make accurate calculations of extremely large numbers. This was something which European Mathematicians didn't find an overwhelming need to do for another three-thousand years after it was developed by the Olmec and later adopted by the Maya. Nobody today knows why the Olmec or Mayans had a need to work with such large numbers.

The answers were actually buried inside several of the stacks of dried gunk in the back of the room where Marissé made her horrible discovery. No amount of technology would be able to save any of the manuscripts or codices. They were lost to time. But the information still existed. It still existed inside the God of the Maya, the God in the Clear Rock. She still held their secrets.

But Marissé didn't know that.

What Marissé knew was that if she'd been here when this was happening, she'd have used her trusty Smith and Wesson to stop this obscene destruction. And she might have succeeded. Machetes were no match for Spanish steel, but Spanish steel could not possibly defend against a well placed nine-millimeter round. And almost 470 years earlier, her pistol would have seemed like magic, especially to the Maya. They knew all about magic. Their God could do magic. But the Maya also knew of the Olmec and the legend of what happened to them. They never built an iron-cage for their God. Instead, they finished building the Pyramid of Life. And when that was finished, they put the piles of holy stone just where their God commanded them to.

Then they sealed the room.

And like she also commanded, the Maya hid their God when trouble came. Trouble had followed the God for millennia, since her first awakening in the clear rock.

Trouble always followed the God in the Clear Rock.

But Marissé couldn't know that, either.

She and Jacinto walked carefully through the minefield of dead knowledge, sidestepping the dusty and strangely smooth brown piles. The stacks looked like a forest of square trees all chopped down to a couple of feet tall and now covered in brown moss. The shadows from their lamps moved between the stacks like stealthy whispers. The only sound was the slight crunching of their boots as they approached the back wall of the molded library. Then they turned and went along the right side until they reached an opening into an extra-wide corridor that doubled back and led deeper into the pyramid. The long, dark tunnel ended in another massively large room.

Unlike the level above, there were only two towering columns in the middle of the room. The chamber was deep enough to make the ambient air cooler, but it didn't have any circulation. It would get hotter and more humid the longer they stayed in it. The ventilation ducts were blowing full blast now, but it would take everything the fans could give to safely vent all the rooms. She could feel air coming from the long ducting which was snaked all the way through this level to the bottom of the whole structure. The ducts ended in the lowest level, in front of an enormous carved wall of religious symbols and writing. Marissé was familiar with some of the symbols and writing. But some of them also confused her.

However, that was the least of her concerns right now. Because before she could get to the final lower level, she'd have to get past this level.

She and Jacinto walked out of the corridor and entered the darkened chamber from one side.

This room was much deeper than the Library room upstairs. Rainwater didn't reach down here. However, insects, rodents, and some other types of animals, obviously did. In fact, they'd found evidence of big animals in this room, which wasn't something you normally found under the ground. Most large animals tended to stay out of man-made holes in the ground. Marissé knew there was only one thing that could make a wild animal crawl into a pit.

Food.

And there would have been lots of food down here.

But it didn't start off as food. It started off as people. They were the Mayans who were on this mountain when the hordes of Conquistadors ransacked the temple and murdered everyone here. However, what the invading Spaniards did to them after they killed them must have seemed like a highly organized buffet to the predators and scavengers that found their way down to this underground feast. Because the gigantic room was filled with piles of bones, and all the bones had been separated into anatomical sections.

There was a pile of right legs; a pile of left legs; a pile of torsos; and two piles of arms with rights and lefts separated. Then there was the pile of heads. Not one body had a head still attached. The only adult skeletons not dismembered were the twelve bodies hanging on freestanding upside-down crosses, which had been fashioned from timber and erected down here. These twelve bodies were also headless, but they were intact otherwise. They were the members of the Mayan High-Council of Priests, who had been speared longways through the neck and torso then hung upside down and lashed to the pole in a gruesome inverted crucifix. The twelve freestanding spikes with skewered Priests were lined up in a large circle that surrounded the two giant columns in the center of the room. The gruesome piles of skeletal body parts were spread around the perimeter of the chamber. The only exception to the piles of bones were the tiny skeletons in between the two giant columns.

These bodies were obviously children.

Marissé hoped they were already dead before this happened to them. As she and Jacinto walked past the great columns, she could see the tiny heads that had been separated from their little bodies and lined up between each of the twelve spikes around the columns. It was like someone used the little skulls to play connect-the-dots between the crucifix posts. But it was what was in the middle of the two stone columns that would probably haunt Marissé for many years.

Between the two vertical beams holding the middle of the pyramid up, each of the headless bodies of the children had been laid out in a perfectly straight line next to each other, like they were all taking a nap. They had been painstakingly lined up from largest to smallest like keys on a life-size xylophone. And each of the skeletal remains had been hacked into two pieces at the midsection and then separated by almost exactly two and a half feet. Marissé stopped and looked at the skeletal remains of a young boy near the middle of the split children.

"Look at the hacking marks at the spine, here."

She pointed to the severed spine of Quatze with her spotlight. Jacinto stopped and knelt down next to her. Then he leaned over and looked closely at the exposed spine that was clearly chipped by some sort of metal.

"Yeah, those are some pretty deep hacks. You think we can figure out what kind of blade it was? Maybe we would know a little more about who did this." He looked up at his mentor.

Marissé looked around as she was kneeling next to the tiny mutilated skeleton. Insects had cleaned most of the bones over the 468 years since this atrocity occurred. But many of the skeletons still had some areas of mummified remains attached. However, none of them had any clothing or jewelry of any sort.

That started to give Marissé her first clue. It was only a hunch right now. But her hunches were usually good. She would find out yet what happened to her people. It was things like this that made her wish she could reach across time and stop things like this from happening. But she knew that was a stupid dream. You couldn't study History if you could go back and alter it. And it would be at odds with her career, which she had been carefully creating and advancing at an astounding rate. She was just turning twenty-nine and already she had the largest pyramid on the planet to her discovery. And she alone had exclusive and unalterable rights to the entire site; guaranteed by the Mexican Government and sanctioned by every organization under God's blue sky.

This was her mountain, and this was her pyramid. Which meant, this was her atrocity to figure out. And she would figure it out. By God, she would figure it out.

And Marissé knew where she was going to start her investigation. It wasn't here in this horror show. It was all the way down in the bottom of the pyramid. That was where she intended to go next.

"Let's start at the bottom. This is a layered pyramid. The first structure is the lowest. That was their beginning." She looked at Jacinto as she stood up. "That's where we start."

Then she turned and walked past the neatly halved children and the separated body parts of the adults and made her way to the back wall that hid the hallway to the last set of stairs. When the final body count was made, the shocking human desecration would account for 567 adults and 111 children. Not all the bodies were complete. A couple of big cats made it in a few days after the massacre when a section of rubble caved-in up top and left a small opening in the rocks. The big cats left after they had eaten their fill. After that, came more scavengers drawn by the odor of death.

The back wall hid a large passage between two of the panels. This was where Marissé and Jacinto went next.

The walls began to get more simple in design and decoration. Then they became plain stone expanses. When they got to the bottom of the wide cutback stairwell into the deep earth, the corridor opened into a sloped hallway that was shaped like a long tunnel. It only went forward for a dozen meters before the stone hallway opened up into an extremely wide room about thirty feet tall with a forest of columns that went far back into darkness on both sides. As they made their way into the dark cavern, the sound from their shoes echoed up into the spaces between the giant stone supports. The room felt like it was far under the earth.

Marissé knew that if they went straight through this pitch black forest of columns, she would come to a massive wall of glyphs and carved art. It was enormous, over twenty feet tall and a hundred feet wide. And it was also covered with intricate carvings and more unknown Mayan glyphs.

But that was not where Marissé was headed.

She turned to the left as soon as she and Jacinto got into the petrified forest of stone. Then she started toward the far back corner as directly as possible without running into one of the multitude of vertical supports holding millions of tons of earth and stone above her head. When they got past the last of the giant columns, there was a small corridor which was outside the forest of cylindrical supports. She turned to the right and started straight for a large corbeled rock doorway against the side wall.

The stone entrance was several feet wide and went into a completely dark and quiet room. The lights from their LED lamps lit up the plain walls as they moved silently into the almost empty chamber. On the back wall, was a smaller version of the carved mural in the main room next door. There were three other rooms, just like this one, at the other three corners of the massive room outside this antechamber. But only this room had what Marissé was heading toward right now.

Only this room had bodies in it.

All the bodies were in the back of the room next to the carved wall. Actually, all of them were on one end of the carved wall. That was exactly where Marissé marched. When she got there, she began setting out her LED Sten-Lamps. These specialized lamps were on small aluminum extension poles that could extend up to about seven feet. And they used large replaceable batteries that could be recharged from small solar panels. The lightweight head had an array of bright LED lights under a fresnel lens plate that extended up out of the heavier battery pack, which sat on the ground.

The units put out a bright but ultracool light, which was important in places like this. One of the rules of underground archeology is not to put in any more heat than necessary, because heat from a living body was a big enough problem to deal with. Body heat combined with hot, humid breath was essentially caustic to priceless artifacts and all underground archeological locations. They were also potentially toxic to the humans who were responsible for putting the heat and moisture there in the first place.

Marissé walked over to the ventilation tube when she finished setting up her pair of Sten-Lamps and glow sticks. The air coming through the wide, flexible tube was not terribly cool. But it was more refreshing than the stale centuries old air that was in here. Jacinto joined her after he set up his lights.

"Now what Boss? You forgot the Corona Lights."

Then he gave her that crooked smile. She smiled and grabbed her water bottle then took a sip.

"Better learn to pretend, my friend." Then she turned her head-mounted LED toward the bodies in front of them. Jacinto laughed.

"Uh oh... She's not only on her way to becoming the most famous female archaeologist of our time, but she's a poet."

Marissé didn't look back. "The most famous archaeologist, period. Man or woman," she said calmly. Then she turned to smile at him, but her headlight temporarily blinded him. Jacinto winced out loud.

"Ouch! Yes, Your Majesty. Anything you say, Your Highness. Just don't shine the bright light in my tender Cuban eyes any more. No mas, por favor."

Marissé ignored him. "Oh, shut up, you pussy."

Then she turned and walked over to the six bodies on the floor. The area was now lit from the LED lamplights, like a small construction site with miniature work lights. She quickly looked over the scene from one side to the other. These bodies were mostly mummified remains. Very few insects must have found their way down here. They also were not mutilated or naked. She squatted down next to one of the Mayan remains closest to her. She could clearly see a stabbing puncture on the stretched and dried skin of the man. It was right over his heart. He was leaning against the back wall of carvings. A machete was in one of his hands. The other was between the legs of the mummified skeleton.

Marissé could see a few beads on the ground next to the dead Mayan Royal Guard. She leaned down to grab one, but when she did, she saw a glint from the Sten-Lamps on something behind the body. As she turned her head and looked against the wall on the floor, Marissé saw a piece of metal. Or at least, it looked like a piece of metal. She got down on her hands and knees and leaned into the lower torso of the skeleton while she reached around with her arm. Jacinto couldn't help himself when he watched his professor lean into the lap of the dead Guard.

"Uh Boss, I know you're only into old guys... I mean really old guys, like a couple of thousand years old... But come on. I don't think it's gonna work."

Marissé sat up and back on her butt as she turned around to see her grad student.

"You have a dirty mind, young man."

She pointed at him with the object of her apparent indiscretion. It was the broken tip of a sword, a Spanish steel sword. The first mystery was solved. The Spanish, most likely Conquistadors, did this. This was not really surprising. It was well known the Spanish Conquistadors sacked the Yucatan peninsula starting in the 1500's and continuing into the 1600's. After that time, the native population of the Maya went into cultural hiding. They blended into the jungle and became true natives once more. They still lived here in the Yucatan. Marissé was related to them. Her father had been a full-blooded native. She would never know, but she was directly related to the small boy whose body she and Jacinto had just examined upstairs. Quatze's family continued to live in the jungle after the temple pyramid was sacked and their youngest son was murdered. There was a direct family lineage that led to Marissé. It was part of the reason she had such a hard time entering this tomb.

Jacinto noticed the shiny metal. "Whoa... Whatcha got there, Señorita?"

She smiled when she tossed it to him, and he clumsily caught it against his chest in the dim LED light. He held it up to his face and used his other hand to adjust the angle of his headlamp. He flipped it over just once then handed it back to his mentor, like a diamond cutter handing over a gem after an inspection.

"Spanish steel. Dual blade. Probably middle sixteenth century." Jacinto smiled confidently.

"City of origin, por favor?" She smiled even bigger at him. It was pop-quiz time, and Jacinto knew it. He also knew he was about to fail.

"Madrid?" He squeaked out his answer mostly as a question.

Marissé shook her head at him. "Oh my poor, poor pitiful pupil. That is not correct. Just for that, you have to carry the object that you know so little about." Then she tossed it back to him, and he caught it the same clumsy way. Marissé chuckled under her breath as she turned on her butt and looked again at the fallen Royal Guard. His right hand was out to the side. It was the one with the machete partially in its grip. But it looked like he was holding himself up with that arm. He couldn't have used the blade to defend himself with it extended under his weight like that.

"Why do you think this one didn't use his blade to fend off the fatal attack?" She was mostly just talking out loud now.

Jacinto knew this. He didn't answer. She did it herself moments later.

"Well maybe, he was stabbed first, then died here... No, that can't be it. We just found the tip of the blade that went through his heart. Surely, a Conquistador wouldn't have thrust his blade so hard into an already dead man that he chipped the blade in the stone behind him."

Jacinto loved listening to her when she did this. It was like watching a really hot female Sherlock Holmes. Marissé kept talking out loud to herself.

"No. This one was alive when he was stabbed." She turned and imitated the sitting position of the dead hero. "And the death blow was delivered as he sat up against this wall." She motioned into her chest while she looked at the cadaver. "And he never tried to block it with his machete... or his other hand." She put her hands into the same position as the dead Guard and then looked at them for a moment.

Then she turned back and leaned into the crotch of the dead man, again. The left arm and hand of the Mayan Royal Guard was in-between his legs. As she looked closely, she could see his finger tips. The skin was gone from all of them. But she could also see the tip of his forefinger. It was crushed. But not flattened like it was stepped on or smashed with a rock. It was pushed in and crushed from the very point of the fingertip. As she sat there for a moment, she saw something else between his legs. On the floor below his mangled fingers, was a small curved piece of what looked like stone. Marissé reached tenderly between his legs and past his hand. Jacinto couldn't resist, again.

"Should I wait outside... you could get a room."

Marissé gave him a sideways look as she continued to sneak her hand in-between the mummified legs of the savior of the Mayan God. After her slender fingertips found the tip of the rock piece, she extracted it just as carefully. When she finally had the piece firmly in her grasp, she slid around on her butt to face Jacinto, again. Then she put on a bit of an English accent.

"Well, well... What 'ave we 'ere Guvv-nuhh?"

Jacinto loved it when she did that, too.

She focused her headlamp and looked at the mysterious piece of carved rock. She could see the remnants of dried bloody fingerprints on it. "Why would this piece of rock be so important, he would hold it rather than try to protect his own life?"

She was talking to herself, again.

Jacinto knew when she switched from talking to him to talking to herself. He had worked with her for two years. He planned on working with her forever, if he could. She was right. Marissé was on her way to becoming the most famous Archaeologist in the world, bar none. And he wanted to help; and get his PhD; and then become a tenured University Professor. Then he would be happy; maybe. But he would handle that when the time came. In the meantime, he'd made friends with the archeology legend from his hometown of Miami. Jacinto knew she had moved there when she was a little girl from her home, here in the Yucatan. And when she enrolled in the University, she promptly became the female equivalent of a young Indiana Jones, only with perky boobs.

By the time she finished her doctorate, she was already known around the world. She had spent every summer while in college back in the Yucatan excavating and discovering. She had a sixth sense for finding sites that had never been discovered. It was like she had been there before in another life. She knew right where they were; almost always. It was kinda spooky. When she discovered this pyramid, she let Jacinto in on the secret before anyone else. Marissé had also decided she wanted Jacinto as her assistant. She needed someone who had his drive and sharp mind. Everything Marissé ever did was first class, as far as the effort. She had to deal with the realities of research grants and money on everything else. Such was the life of a field researcher in the modern archeology game. And it was field research that both Marissé and Jacinto loved the most; like right now.

Marissé was getting on a roll. She reached back and grabbed one of the extension LED lights then put it next to the cadaver. After flipping the LED head around, she pointed it toward the Royal Guard's left side and illuminated where she was looking earlier. Then she used her headlamp to look over the whole body starting at the feet. She noticed immediately that several bones on his feet had signs of abrasion from the top. It was the same with both knees, and these were not shallow abrasions. They were deep into the bone.

"This would have hurt... Maybe he was dragged here on his knees and feet."

She was pointing, but not touching the cadaver. She was also not looking at Jacinto. She was not taking her eyes off of the Royal Guard's partially mummified body. She continued traveling up the body with her headlight only inches away from the corpse. Then she pulled out a flashlight from her equipment belt and switched it on. The handheld tactical LED put out a concentrated beam, like a miniature spotlight. She moved the bright light over the sides of the Guard's legs and then up to his hips. When she got there, she found abrasions on the outside of the upper leg and hip area. But these abrasions went the other direction. They stretched across the leg from anterior to posterior on the outside of the hip. The other abrasions were lengthways on the body, in the same direction as the head-to-toe line. These deep abrasions went laterally across the side of his upper leg, like something was sawing next to his hip.

She leaned forward and looked over to the other side of the body with her light. She could see the same marks on the other hip.

Marissé sat back on her butt again. This time she looked off into the distance and slightly tilted her head. She started thinking out loud again as she picked her knees up in front of her and leaned back on her hands.

"If you're being dragged face down, then your feet and knees get scraped down the front, like these marks." She looked nonchalantly at the bony feet of the cadaver beside her with her headlamp. "But if your feet are out behind you, then how do you get lateral abrasions on both hips?" She started bouncing one knee up and down.

Jacinto smiled. This meant she was onto something. She was like a book; an extremely complex and beautiful book. But he knew a few of the chapters by heart; like this one. She had something in her head. The only thing missing was—

Oh, there it was.

Marissé stuck out her tongue slightly as she was thinking. Now, Jacinto knew she had it. The beams from the flashlight and her headlamp lit up the dusty corpse as she suddenly leaned forward to examine the body again. She looked down at the outside of the knees and ankles with the mini spotlight. There were not any abrasions to speak of. Then, she carefully reached into the crotch of the Royal Guard, again. This time, she gently lifted his hand as she reached down with her penlight. She saw what she was looking for and carefully put the hand back down. Then she got up on her knees and looked behind the fallen hero. Both of his shoulders were scraped deeply. Finally, she sat back down.

"He wasn't dragged. He crawled somewhere. Somewhere either very rough—" She looked around. The floors were all pretty smooth. "Or he did it very quickly... Or maybe over a long distance... Or both." She continued to survey the entire room with her penlight as she slowly spoke to herself.

She was doing that Sherlock Holmes thing, again. Jacinto wished she would let him videotape her, but she adamantly refused. He eventually stopped asking after she broke his video camera in front of him with the butt of her Smith and Wesson nine-millimeter. He got the message. You didn't have to beat him over the head. Just his camcorder, apparently. She bought him a new one the next week; and a six pack of Corona Lights, his favorite.

Marissé got up on her knees again, which snapped Jacinto back into here and now.

This time she leaned into the area above the Guard's head. She looked around on the front and the left side. Then she stood up and leaned over so she could see the top and the back of his head.

_'Bingo.'_ Marissé thought to her self as she focused the spotlight on the dead man's skull.

On the back of the Guard's head, was the same sort of deep abrasions she just found on the other body parts of this one Mayan. She quickly turned and walked over to check the other bodies. A cursory glance told her what she wanted to know.

None of the other bodies had these marks.

Now she approached the Mayan hero's body from its right side. She leaned in close and looked at his face. She tried to imagine how he must have appeared when he was alive. She knew what the gene structure would probably have made him look like. She grew up with the same structure in the mirror. While she was daydreaming, she subconsciously dropped the hand that was holding the powerful penlight down by her side. Marissé was just about to pull it back up and look at the dead man's face again, when she noticed something.

It was on the wall behind the fallen Guard.

The wall had carvings from floor to ceiling. But the carvings at the top were not the same as the bottom. The bottom had large legs, beaks, and wings of mythical half-man half-creatures carved in vivid three-dimensional relief. The carvings had spaces behind them where the relief was on the back wall. It was in one of these spaces, right behind the body of the Royal Guard, that Marissé was now staring.

She would never know that the Royal Guard had crawled here on purpose just before he was stabbed in the heart by the murderous Spaniard. But the reason why he crawled over here; the reason he would not move when the Conquistador approached him; the reason he did not try to fend off the death blow, which he saw coming; was the same reason that Marissé now got down on her knees and looked closely at the wall with both her handheld spotlight and her headlamp.

468 years earlier, the Royal Guard, who was the chosen savior of the God of the Maya, saw with horrified eyes what he had done, what sign he had left. And he knew what that visible sign would mean to anyone who saw it with their own eyes.

So he did what he was trained to do; what he had been chosen to do; what he had to do in order to save his God.

He sat up from where he already lay dying from two stab wounds to the abdomen. Then he crawled over to the carved wall and laid against it, hiding the sign that he had mistakenly left behind. He held himself upright and balanced his weight on his right hand. He let his holy blade slip from his grip under his palm. Then he took his damaged left hand with its holy relic and slipped it between his legs.

Then he waited.

When the Conquistador pulled the broken sword out of his heart, the hero Guard was already dead. But he refused to let go. He held his body stiffly against the wall. His dying eyes were grateful to see the heartless murderer walk away after yanking off his holy necklace. But the Guard did not let his body move from the spot against the wall. Blackness fell over the hero, but his willpower froze his body in place. And it would not move for 468 years. He would keep the secret safe for all of that time.

But he would give up that secret, now.

Marissé looked closely at the slightly curved line in the back of the wall behind the carved legs of the mythical creatures. Extending down from a thin line that went back into the wall and looked like it was possibly a crack between two pieces of rock, were four dark-brown marks made from fingers.

They extended from the deep crack line down. The deep brown color was clearly old dried blood and the finger marks even had prints visible in several places. More importantly, there was nothing on the rock above the small curved line. She followed the crack-type line around with her headlight in a loose oblong shape behind an open area in the legs and arms on the wall carving. When she finished her visual inspection, she was back to the four fingertip marks. As she looked closer, she could tell they were probably from the dead body beside her. One of the fingertip marks had a smashed tip.

Marissé also knew what that meant.

There was a tunnel behind this wall.

• • •

The God of the Maya, who was first the God of the Olmec and dozens more before that, did not know it; but she was about to be rescued, again.

And her time as the God in the Clear Rock would end.
Chapter 10

TIME REMAINING: 17 YEARS

LOCATION:

UNMARKED TESTING FACILITY, USA

DATE: APRIL 11, 1995 AD – 10:42 AM

• • • • •

"No one's ever finished all five sections."

The Lead Agent spoke in barely more than a whisper even though the two-way mirror was as soundproof as the rest of the monitoring room where she and the other two agents were standing.

"That was two-hundred and fifty pages in under twenty-five minutes." The other agent was whispering, too.

All three agents looked like they were either mesmerized or in awe, as they stared through the glass wall. When the third agent finally spoke, it was in complete amazement.

"It would have been faster if he hadn't stopped and straightened the stacks of paper between each section." Then he dragged his eyes away from the thick plate glass and looked over at the other two. "What should we do? He's already finished. We can see that... He's just sitting there doodling in the air."

The lead agent finally pulled her eyes from the two-way mirror.

"You know the protocol... especially with this one. We wait until the time is up... Or until he presses the button and says he's finished."

Then she turned back to the glass partition. After a moment, her jaw hung down slightly. She was unquestionably in awe. She'd never seen anything like this, and she'd been with the program since it began.

On the other side of the double paned panels, the boy with the big brain was getting really tired of this current test. In fact, he was getting tired of all of the tests. It was not that he wasn't any good at tests. Oh no. That was not the case at all. He was exceptional at tests. Testing was like a game to him, and he loved that game. It didn't matter what type of test it was, the boy always aced it. The child was gifted, and he knew it.

Which was one of the reasons why he was getting so tired of these tests.

He knew all he was doing was proving to these people that he knew how to take a test; that he was smart; that he was smarter than they were. Hell, he was smarter than anyone he'd ever met in his entire thirteen-year-old life. He hadn't met anyone smarter than he was since he was eleven and took the first of these tests. After that first test, he began to be tested almost every day, which was how he got into this current situation; locked inside a room where he sat at a table in front of a large plate mirror on the wall. The boy knew the mirror was a two-way mirror, which had people standing behind it. He also knew those people were talking about him, even as he was watching the slightly skewed reflection of himself in the fake mirror.

In front of him on the table, were five stacks of paper neatly spread apart and aligned by their bottom edges. The boy had taken the time between each section to place and straighten each sheet. A pen was sitting across the middle stack, opened but no longer being used. There was a stack of pencils at the end of the table next to a timer. The boy had snuck in the pen. He never looked at either the stack of pencils or the timer, which had eighteen minutes left before it would reach the red arrow. The red arrow signified the end of the forty-five minute allotted time period for this set of tests.

The thirteen year old boy had the final page of the test in front of him, and for the last two minutes, he'd been doodling in the air over the bottom corner. He didn't touch the page. In fact, he didn't even look at it. He never looked at a test sheet once he marked it and moved to the next page. He didn't double-check any of his answers on the test, either. He never did. He was pretending to write out the first twenty-seven pages of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey; his latest mental memorizing and recall practice book.

His natural born speed reading ability allowed him to go through three complete encyclopedia sets before he was seven years old. And when he read through these numerous encyclopedias, he didn't just browse through the pages and look at the pretty pictures. He read every word, from cover to cover, of each lettered edition in three separate adult encyclopedia sets. Then he read fourteen years of the Britannica update journals, as well.

And his memory, which he practiced on regularly, allowed him to recall every word of it. The young boy had a total, conscious recall and a true photographic eidetic memory.

For instance, he could recall when he took the very first of these tests. And he recalled vividly when the results came in. That day, he had been pulled out of class and taken to the middle of the empty auditorium. Then he was spoken to at length by a group that included the Principal of the school, his teacher, plus three new people. There would never be less than five people directly involved in any aspect of this child's educational future, again. His parents, however, were not yet involved. In fact, very shortly after his second IQ test, his parents would no longer find out anything about the young boy's educational future. The boy realized within a week what was happening to him. He also realized that he was not going to let his parents have anything to say about whether or not he would be allowed to do it. He'd been able to manipulate his parents for most of his conscious life. Which, according to him, began inside the womb of his mother.

He could recall things from an age where no one was supposed to be able to remember things. His mother constantly doubted whether or not the things he said he could remember were true. Once when he was nine years old, he sat down and drew a perfect floor plan of the house they lived in when the boy was born. The family had moved out of this house when he was only sixteen months old. The accurately scaled drawing had every piece of furniture labeled, marked, and in the correct position; including those pieces in the garage, like the washing machine and dryer. When he was finished, he tore the sheet of paper off the legal tablet and handed it to his mom.

"Mom... What happened to our old couch? The one that was at our old house... when I was a baby. The one I used to climb on against the wall, here." He pointed to the drawing in her hand. She glanced at the drawing quickly, then did a double-take.

"Where did you get this drawing, honey?" Her head was now tilted slightly as she looked at the drawing with recognition.

"I drew it just now," he confidently told her.

"But, that's not possible. You couldn't..."

She let her sentence trail off as she recognized the yellow legal-sized paper from the tablet in her work briefcase on the kitchen table. Suddenly, she realized the things her precocious son had been telling her about his ability to remember things were true. She looked down at the drawing in her hand and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her son was not a normal child. He was something special. And the boy also knew it. So it was no surprise to him when two years after that incident, he tested an IQ score so high, that he was immediately retested because it was feared the testing was wrong, or he had somehow cheated.

But the second test did not assuage their fears or concerns. Because the second test came back much higher than the first, like perfect.

When asked about the difference in his scores, the boy explained he had just gotten a new telescope and had been up all night before the first test. But he got a good night sleep last night, so he could focus on this test.

Two years later, and the boy was still being tested. Although now, it was not in the same manner as the original IQ identification tests that he took. These tests were administered to pre-teen U.S. children starting in the 1970's, and they continued into the late 90's when the program was terminated. The purposes of such tests were simple. To help identify those children who were considered special. They achieved this goal by using the standardized IQ test combined with batteries of specialized intelligence and knowledge evaluation exams.

Children from all over the country who tested at certain levels on these tests were allowed to be moved into special advanced programs. Each state had different programs that were overseen by a certain obscure department in the Federal Government. But, children who scored exceptionally high on any of these tests garnered the attention of the Federal Agency overseeing this innocuous Department of Education program. If these children scored high enough, and they matched certain profiles, they were tested again and again.

And each time they tested them, the number of students who would go to the next level got smaller. Finally, the number of children culled from this nationwide testing program had been cut down to twelve. And that was how the first members of the elite über intelligent teen super-geniuses were found. In fact, it would be this initial group of twelve children that made the U.S. military adopt the first recorded use of the term 'super-genius.'

None of the children knew of each other. They all came from different cities and went to different schools. They were involved in the normal program for advanced children in each of the schools they attended. However, the other children in these advanced classes at these normal schools were not like that one child who was a member of the intelligent über geniuses, which had been identified by this mystery Federal group with both military and scientific backgrounds.

These twelve special children would continue to go school in their place of residence. And they would be involved in these normal advanced programs until they graduated from their normal high school, at whatever individual pace they chose. When one child graduated from the group, another was recruited in from the ongoing testing around the nation. The team always consisted of twelve children.

The individual children who were actively part of the dirty-dozen intelligent kids in this program were watched closely at every stage of their educational advancement. In addition to their normal school classes, they would also be allowed to spend half of their day at a specialized educational location near their regular school of attendance. The students were taken to this testing center on a bus, on which they were the only student. And they were delivered back to their normal school before the end of the day, so they could return home with their normal advanced classmates. These specialized testing centers were usually located near universities. Each of these centers was also located near a military base. It was not coincidence.

The things that these super special children learned in the afternoon was ostensibly college-level course material. And it did, in fact, contain such material. However, these children were also exposed to other types of training, educational systems, and learning methods that were experimental at best. Each child was slowly introduced to specific concepts and information which was tailored to their individual minds. Over the three decades that the program was covertly running, none of the children ever knew the ulterior motive or purpose of their educational testing exams.

With the exception of one.

The young boy with the big brain knew exactly what was happening around him. The boy had comprehended everything that was going on around him for as long as he could remember, which was an exceptionally long time. He had a mechanically oriented mind that could immediately grasp an enormous number of ideas and concepts. Then his mind would organize them into his brain in such a way that he had complete mastery over their details.

After a while, the young boy began to understand how adults thought.

He certainly understood what these adults wanted; the ones who used to wear uniforms around him, but now tried to dress casually. However, they couldn't hide their relationship to whatever organization required that close-cropped haircut, and the sunglasses, and the attitude that he now related to the mystery organization known only to him as, The Federal Level.

The Federal Level of this organization; The Federal Level of this advanced program; The Federal Level of blah, blah, blah.

He was tired of The Federal Level. He was tired of the tests. He was tired of it all. Because he was starting to get it. He knew what they were up to.

He began to understand the real reasons behind the subjects of the specialized tests which had become more like the computer simulations that would be common years later. These latest tests, which were immersive, required the boy to place his mind into a situation and then come up with answers. This was something he did using a form of empathic mental placement; sort of an astral projection of his intellect into whatever situation his handlers, whoever they actually were, needed him to evaluate. It was fascinating work. And they went to extraordinary efforts to try and hide the details from him. But he understood what was going on. He knew the world events that were happening. And he had an idea why he was being asked to come up with answers to questions that were being posed to him.

He was not stupid.

The young boy would continue to test. The obscure group would continue to use his mind. And before he became sixteen years old, he would officially start analyzing things for organizations that never introduced themselves properly. By the time the boy was old enough to actually graduate from normal high school, which he continued to attend for a half-day as he had done since he had entered the program at eleven, he had decided what he would study in college. The people who spent the time and millions of dollars training him, also knew what they wanted him to study in college.

It was not mutually exclusive. But it was not mutually discussed, either.

One party, the boy, had one idea. The other party, that mysterious group called The Federal Level, had their idea, as well. A conflict between these two parties would arise, eventually. But in the meantime, the boy would start college officially at seventeen years old. By the time he was eighteen, the CIA recruiter on the campus made a point of approaching him and introducing himself and his organization. The young boy, who was now a young man, knew this day would come.

So he sat down and had lunch with the fellow with close-cut hair. Over lunch with the CIA recruiter, offers were made and agreements were nodded to. Before the end of the meal, a new official relationship was set up with the young man.

His brilliant mind had been trained and developed for just this purpose, although the secretive CIA recruiter on campus was not informed of this, and knew only the minimum he had to know to make the offer. Now, one of the real organizations responsible for his specialized education would finally make use of that training and investment. His mind was capable of grasping enormously complex issues and large numbers of details, even highly technical details. And then he would distill from these things a relationship. His ability to analyze such intel and data made him very useful in the strategic intelligence analysis field.

Through his late teens and into his early twenties, he would provide services to this organization on a regular basis. After 9/11, he provided services to a shadowy group fronted by the CIA and what would become Homeland Security. The services included everything from simple analysis of spectral satellite imagery all the way up to complex, technical evaluations of emerging technologies, which was his specialty. In fact, he eventually became known in the circles that used his services, as the go-to man when it came to any type of new technology that needed to be analyzed and placed in its strategic location on the world's stage. The young man would continue studying in college and rack up a handful of degrees before he finally decided it was time to leave. After only four years at the university, he managed to get five degrees.

He became famous, at least in the world of the Astronaut geeks and Space fans, as the youngest member ever to be admitted into the Astronaut Corps, and he was accepted right out of college. This short newfound fame also introduced him to the woman he would marry within three months. They met at a bar outside the Space Center in Houston. She was in a bikini contest that he and a couple of his new Astronaut friends were judging, unofficially of course. The green-eyed, dirty-blond swimsuit-beauty had classic European looks from her Polish heritage. She made it known that she was there to win the contest. She was also not shy about making it known that the young Astronaut Star she recognized from the newspaper, was going to be her conquest that night.

The girl was not the brightest light in the socket, not by a long shot. She had spent her whole life, all twenty-three years of it, using her body, her looks, and her blatant sexuality to get her where she had gotten, which wasn't very far. Subconsciously she knew, she would have to land herself some hottie-of-a-husband who had money if she wanted to continue living the lifestyle of a spoiled rotten diva. Which was a remarkable feat, when you considered that she was born the illegitimate daughter of a New Orleans Saints football player and a Southern Belle Debutante turned escort in New Orleans. The idiot football player eventually married the hooker from Slidell, who promptly bankrupted him.

Then the debutante hooker new mom found another sugar-daddy to cling to, and another, and another. Her daughter followed the only example she had ever known. She attached herself to the good-looking Astronaut as fast as she could, and she never let go. She moved in with him a week after she slept with him, which was the night of the swimsuit contest the first night they met. Then she convinced him to get married by the end of the month.

The young, smart, amazing boy, who was now a brilliant young man quickly advancing in the NASA Astronaut game, had no chance.

For all of his specialized training and knowledge, he had no experience with anything like this false-blond bombshell who was now throwing herself all over him. They were married in a whirlwind weekend getaway to Vegas that she arranged without his knowledge. Then, they spent the next fourteen months in the most horrible and rocky relationship you could imagine. Nothing he did satisfied her. Nothing they had was enough. Nowhere they went was nice enough, and his friends were never good enough.

She was a bitch; a royal flaming bitch.

And everyone who met her knew it, except Luke Tomkin.

Luke was enamored with this idiot evil blond and nothing anyone could say would change his mind. Not even the daily doses of fighting or the yelling matches were enough to convince him that the relationship was never good. It got so disruptive, it almost became an issue at his workplace in the Houston Space Center when she wouldn't stop calling and harassing him.

In an effort to get away from the condemnation of his friends, his family, his coworkers, and everyone who knew him, he decided to take his new wife on a research trip he was preparing to leave for. Luke had arranged a small grant to pay for the leasing and outfitting of a luxury sized yacht to travel to the middle of the South Atlantic ocean for four months. He was going to study the South Atlantic Magnetic Anomaly, an area of weakened magnetic protection in the Earth's field. This hole had opened up over the past few years and had become the center of the intriguing research that Luke had decided to follow.

The plan was to go to the anomaly and begin laying out special buoys he had designed to measure the extent and details of the magnetic enigma. He didn't know it, but when he decided to take his lovely young wife with him on this research, he should have just shot himself in the heart, instead.

It would have been quicker, and more humane.

The opportunity to spend four months at sea on a luxury yacht was something the gold-digging bitch couldn't pass up. She packed nothing more than swimsuits for the entire trip. Actually, she also packed a few sexy, slinky, low-hung, tight-fitting dresses, just in case she met someone. Because although she'd made a point to hook, land, net, gut and filet the young Astronaut she was now married to, he was not her only intimate male acquaintance; not by a long shot.

Over the first eight months of their marriage, she'd made every possible effort to sleep with virtually every guy she could get her hands on who didn't know her husband. Luke knew none of this, of course. So when he asked her to go on this trip, she was careful to find out how many ports they would be stopping at and how long they would be staying in the Caribbean. She'd spent her wasted teens and early twenties at various Caribbean resorts trying to become famous in her waterproof underwear that never got wet. She quickly set up clandestine rendezvous with several of her former lovers who were spread throughout the Caribbean.

During the first part of the voyage through the Caribbean and past the Antilles, she successfully managed to get laid by seven guys. It would have been eight guys, but the eighth man was interrupted pre-coitus, when Luke came back to the marina where the boat had been moored. The unlucky fellow had to jump out the window into the water before Luke came into the stateroom and caught him with his wife.

Fortunately for Luke, that was the last port-of-call before they headed out to open sea for the South Atlantic.

And also luckily for Luke, the girl's libidinous nature caught up to her. Being alone with the only male on the computerized boat, she eventually turned her sexual attention back to her husband. The encounters were often and usually violent, as the boat auto-cruised itself down to the south Atlantic. Luke was sexually exhausted by the time the yacht reached the edge of the magnetic anomaly. He began laying buoys out in a grid that would someday cover several million square miles.

In between dropping buoys, Luke began spending most of his time two decks down below, where his computers and banks of sensor equipment had been set up to monitor the buoy data. His wife spent all of her time on the top deck suntanning in the nude. After four weeks of this, she had turned golden brown; and had managed to screw Luke's eyeballs out on everything in the boat, at least once. Most recently was just an hour earlier. She intended to do him again after she got good and hot in the sunshine. She was now lying naked and glistening on a blanket spread over the plush pad of the recliner that she used every day on the deck of the yacht. The pad had almost become molded to her body.

She was on her back face up. Her silicone implants sat high and perky on her chest. They didn't lay out to the side like normal, real breasts do. Her body was long, although not long enough to get her a job as a real model. But she was tall enough to make her look great in high-heels and nothing more than a few patches of fabric tied together with strings. Her body was completely shaven of hair with the exception of her naturally dirty-blond coiffure, which had been lightening from the day they jumped on the boat. It was no longer dirty-blond. Now, it was a highlighted sandy blond.

She had set up a misting sprayer from the water spigot about seven feet away from where her lounge chair was permanently set up on the deck. It misted her from head to toe keeping her from getting too hot, so that she could lay in the sun even longer. Although she grew up well past the age of the introduction of sunscreen, she rarely used any product with an SPF rating. She preferred something that would make her tan faster and deeper. Unfortunately, she'd already run out of the massive supply she brought with her. The only thing left she could use was an oil lotion with an SPF-15 sunscreen, which was what she was rubbing on her body and her breasts at the moment as she sat up and straddled her padded deck chair.

The water from the mister mixed with the oil in the lotion as she spread it over her large A-cup sized breasts, pushed up from the bottom by a silicone implant, which brought the total breast size to a very full C-cup; or a D-cup if she put on too much weight. This was her second set of implants. She had decided the first set were not large enough. Those were pulled out and replaced with the current residents of her sub-mammary spaces.

As she rubbed the lotion around her nipples, her fingertips slid across the scar tissue that completely surrounded all but a tiny piece of tissue around each of her aureola. She no longer had any feeling in either of her nipples. But she had long ago accepted that losing the feeling in her nipples was the sacrifice she had to make for looking beautiful. Her boobs had helped her land a man, which would allow her to live the lazy life she'd grown accustomed to. She continued rubbing the oil-based tanning accelerator with a minimum SPF sunscreen across her glistening wet chest as drops from the mister gathered up and ran down the sides of her much too upright-pointing breasts. Suddenly, she felt a wave of warmth running over her body as an opaque cloud moved out of the Sun's path. It actually felt wonderful to her. The misty water had started chilling her from the ocean breeze.

When she finished applying lotion to every inch of her legs, back and shoulders that she could reach, she laid back on the padded deck chair and slid her sunglasses over her eyes. After just a few minutes, she felt the warmth grow, again. As it began to get warmer and warmer, she waited until it was really starting to burn. This was her favorite thing to do. She knew that if she waited just that extra little bit, the tanning rays would make her extra golden brown. When she could no longer take the burning of her skin, even by rubbing her hands through the mist, she turned over and laid on her stomach, face down.

She took off her sunglasses and slipped them down on the deck. The mist heads quickly covered her body with cooling condensation. She had managed to cover almost her entire body with the tanning accelerator and minimum sunblock formula. The only area she had not been able to reach was a diamond shaped spot in the middle of her back. The skin on this exposed part of her back did not have any lotion or sunscreen on it at all. It was this patch of skin that began to burn faster than the rest of her back. She couldn't see it, but the rough diamond shaped area between her shoulder blades, which outlined the spot her fingertips could not reach with sunscreen, quickly began to turn bright red. And then it got redder and redder. The rest of her body was starting to turn pink, too.

Suddenly, the middle of her back and her spine felt like they were on fire.

She quickly pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked around. The Sun was brighter than she had ever seen it. Her eyes couldn't stand the light. She had to squint to look at it. She didn't know what was happening, but suddenly she felt heat burning into the top of her head. She grabbed her blanket and ran into the cabin deck door. When she got inside the yacht, she started screaming for Luke.

As soon as he heard her scream, Luke quickly came up from down below. When he got into the main cabin and looked at her, he realized something was wrong. She was no longer golden bronze. She was now bright red from her head to her toes. Her skin was the color of a cooked lobster and parts of her breasts were starting to blister up in patches. He didn't know what had happened to her, but he looked out the window and realized the Sun was much too bright. He quickly looked around and noticed the electronic equipment in the cabin was also showing signs of electrical interference. Static was suddenly coming over the speakers that had been blaring out over the back deck from the stereo system the woman had been listening to while sunbathing.

His computer-like brain rapidly put all the clues together, and he suddenly knew what was happening. He grabbed her by the arm and quickly ran down into the lower decks. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he tripped and fell into the hall. When he hit the floor, the woman behind him slipped and fell on top of him. As he rolled around on the deck and looked at the woman he married, her beautiful bronze skin had turned dark blood red and her sandy blond hair had bleached pure white. Then she looked up at him and transformed again right before his eyes.

Suddenly instead of his wife, he was holding a bald, screaming, fourteen-year-old girl whose hair had been completely burned off her head. The skin on her back started peeling off in thick, gooey sheets, as she flailed on top of him on the floor.

She was screaming at Luke's face, but he couldn't push her off, and he couldn't get himself up. He tried shoving her up with his hands, but her skin kept coming off in pieces. Finally, he rolled himself over and lifted his chest up off her, but she reached out for him with her blistered and peeling arms. Then he watched her face pull away from her skull, which emerged like a gaping grotesque flower. As he jumped off her body, he looked down and the center of her torso started opening up and spreading out. Worms and maggots on the inside of her body cavity started expanding out and falling onto the floor. Then her pelvis split open, and her ovaries popped out like large cue balls that were covered with grotesque tumors and cancerous black spots.

As Luke stumbled backward and watched, the girl burned into ash in front of him.

The young scientist and Astronaut started screaming at the top of his lungs.

He screamed and screamed, but nothing came out.

All around him, the cabin was burning, and he could tell the boat was sinking. He tried to scream, and he tried to move. But his feet were stuck; his voice was gone. As the boat around him was consumed by flame, and the smoke covered in over the young Astronaut, Luke's eyes snapped open, and he was awake.

Sweat was pouring off of him because of the nightmare.

But this was a new twist on the normal nightmare.

In the normal nightmare, he ran his hysterical wife down below and began to treat her skin for the severe second-degree burns she had over ninety-five percent of her body. In the normal nightmare, she left him as soon as she realized the time she spent suntanning out on the deck in the increased radiation under the anomaly had caused her to become sterile. In that version of the bad dream, she divorced him as soon as she found out she was not only sterile, but she had ovarian cancer. She blamed him for taking her out on the boat, even though she knew it had been her decision to accompany him, and he had nothing to do with her extreme suntanning habits.

And in the normal nightmare, he wakes up from that horrible dream while still inside the dream. And then he thinks he's still married to the beautiful woman who became his wife. The woman he loves. He's overcome with a warm feeling from head to toe.

Then he suddenly realizes he's not married to the woman he loves any more. And the whole thing is just a terrible nightmare within a dream.

And then he would wake up for real.

That was how the normal nightmare worked.

This nightmare was new.

This nightmare encapsulated the nightmare he had just lived through.

As Luke looked around the mysterious radiation shielded chamber, he remembered this new nightmare was real. Then he realized his old nightmare would never be the same again.

While Luke glance around, his uncle walked toward him in the now quiet and stationary boat.

Luke looked up at his uncle and had no idea what Marshall was about to say. His normal ability to empathically cold-read a situation had been short-circuited by a ninety-three million mile long solar jolt.

Marshall stepped up to Luke with his finger across his lips.

But he didn't say _'shhhhhh.' _

He knew his nephew knew what he meant...
Chapter 11

T-MINUS: 48 HOURS 37 MINUTES

LOCATION:

MIDDLE OF THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 2:31 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 17:31 GMT

• • • • •

Marshall was walking away from him as Luke got up from where he had been sleeping and looked at his Tag Heuer chronograph. It had been a little under two hours since they entered the mysterious radiation shielded chamber in the bowels of his uncle's boat. The entire Boudreaux family, including Lola the dog, had dozed off and were still sleeping. After he and Marshall had treated everyone from the little supplies in the first aid kit, Marshall informed Luke this was a decompression chamber. When Luke inquired about its hyperbaric capabilities, Marshall came back with a list of diving gases but ended with pure oxygen. Then Luke asked if the controls could be accessed from inside the room, and when he got the affirmative nod, he told his uncle to raise the oxygen and lower the ambient pressure to one-half atmosphere. This would help the burns on the kids and help everyone else for the radiation exposure they'd all received.

As the oxygen poured in and the air sifted out, everyone began to doze off to the vibration of the boat. It was still moving at over 170 knots in autopilot and jet-hydrofoil, but the ride was quite smooth. The high-frequency vibration helped put the sobs of the children to rest and soon everyone was sleeping on the fold-down cots in the walls. Marshall only dozed in and out of a light sleep. When the sound of the turbo jet engines died down, and the boat came out of hydrofoil, he snapped awake. He had programmed the guidance computer to get them at least twenty-five miles outside the wall of the magnetic hole according to the buoy data, and not to stop until they stayed twenty-five miles outside the border of the magnetic anomaly.

Now, as he and Luke quietly made their way to the door of the radiation shielded hyperbaric chamber, Marshall tried to mentally calculate how far they must have traveled cruising at emergency speed for over an hour and forty-five minutes. Before he finished, he keyed the panel and opened the valve to equalize the pressure. He pushed the heavy metal door open and stepped over the bulkhead. Then he locked the door against the wall to keep it open.

"No need to make the Boudreaux's think we're holding them hostage if they wake up," he mumbled low to himself.

Then he and Luke quietly went up to the main cabin. As they stepped out of the stairwell and looked around, the cabin seemed okay from the inside, and all of the equipment was still on. The SOHO II was flashing red, but the alarm had long since been silenced. Marshall walked up to the main helm and punched in a few keys on the panel. Luke walked over and quickly checked his equipment rack, including the SOHO II receiver. They both looked at the main screen as Marshall punched up the GPS buoy data. Then they both stood there silently for several long beats as they took in what they were seeing. Luke broke the silence first.

"Fuck... Me..."

The whole screen was blinking red except for a small strip on the far left side, the western part of the map. This was where the flashing icon for the _Moondance_ was located. All the buoys to the east of the boat were flashing red. The magnetic hole now covered the entire grid area on the screen.

Marshall quickly looked to see if the west wall of the anomaly was still moving, like it was when he looked at it during the storm. He punched up the target acquisition screen and then moved a pointer over with a touch sensitive portion of the main panel in front of him. Then he touched the outline of the west wall of the magnetic field and hit another key. The westward movement of the magnetic anomaly wall popped up beneath the pointer mark. He glanced over at Luke.

"The wall is moving northwest at 24 knots. That means it's about an hour-and-a-half behind us."

"Crap! That's a thousand times faster than it's been moving. And that's a new heading... It changed direction." Luke was starting to get antsy.

Marshall held his hand up to him before Luke could continue. Then he quickly punched the command to zoom out the map, in order to find the other edges of the anomaly. The entire hole previously fit inside the zoom setting he was just looking at. It didn't any more. In fact, only the extreme left edge, the western edge of the anomaly, was visible. As the satellite map auto-zoomed the screen out to the needed level, he could see why. The entire Mid-Atlantic ocean was on the screen now.

"That's not good," Marshall mumbled to himself, as he watched the composite satellite and buoy data begin to overlay on the map of the ocean.

Luke had been overseeing multiple teams laying out buoys in the Atlantic twelve times a year for over five years; beginning not too long after that fateful first trip with his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Since then, he and his teams had covered almost thirty-two million square miles of open ocean. The buoys were not particularly close together. But they covered a huge swath of the Atlantic from the Caribbean into the South Atlantic, and they communicated with each other by shortwave radio and direct satellite transponders that could be detected from orbit. When combined with the on-board EM sensors, this system of buoys essentially created a gigantic live magnetometer field in the Atlantic. The buoy data could be picked up from satellite or by a ship inside the grid. Luke had originally intended this to serve as a means of warning ships in the area of the anomaly, but it eventually became more useful for tracking the movement of the magnetic hole. In fact, it had been Luke who discovered that the anomaly was moving faster than first believed and in a new direction, to the north and west. He continued to have teams lay out a grid of magnetic sensor buoys all the way from the South Atlantic into the Central Atlantic. And he was going to lay buoys into the Caribbean and North Atlantic next. He also had a wide corridor of buoys from the U.S. mainland out to the main buoy grid, which had been laid on each trip in and out from port. This allowed the field to be monitored by boat during the whole trip and would make it easier to expand the buoy field in the future.

Luke and Marshall were suddenly both thinking it was a fortunate thing Luke had thought ahead. Because as they watched the satellite image clear up quickly then redraw the buoy data, they were more than a little shocked at what they saw.

The magnetic hole had previously covered a quarter of a million square miles; over five-hundred miles wide in all directions.

But it was much larger, now. It was gigantic compared to what it was.

It appeared to Luke that it had grown at least 500 percent, more likely around 520 percent. It was at least a thousand miles wide now.

Marshall quickly began punching in the commands to measure the area inside the anomaly compared to the last recorded size from the logs. Before he could finish, Luke walked up next to him.

"It's about five-hundred and twenty percent larger."

Before Marshall could answer, the screen in front of him confirmed what his genius nephew had just informed him. It read, '520.19 percent increase in size.' It really pissed Marshall off when Luke did that.

"Don't get cocky. The real question... is it still growing?"

They both watched the screen for a few more moments in silence. The computer highlighted border of the magnetic hole did not appear to be moving substantially. It appeared the size was staying close to the same for now.

Marshall turned and looked at Luke. "How long was the storm?"

"About an hour, according to SOHO II. And I guess I don't need to tell you how intense it was. It was a giant X-class storm. The readings were almost off the chart." Luke was starting to look nervous, again. Then he thought of something. "Call up the buoy data set."

Marshall punched the keys on the panel. The main screen started to pop up numbers below each buoy marker. The first number in the list was the only number Luke was interested in. That was the percentage of the magnetic field that each buoy measured at the ocean surface. The real-time numbers were for detected magnetic field and usually ranged from 65% to 100%, depending on whether the buoys were inside, outside, or on the edges of the anomaly. Luke and Marshall both had the same response at the same time.

"Fuck Me..."

All the buoy markers inside the anomaly read 0% magnetic field detected.

Luke was dumbfounded. The area known as the Atlantic Anomaly was not truly a hole in the magnetic field, only an area of weakened strength in the Earth's natural magnetic field lines. But now it was an actual hole. Luke couldn't access the satellite data to see what was happening with the rest of the magnetic field, but he reasoned the field lines had cleaved apart and were missing in this area of the ocean. Now, the anomaly was not only larger after the hour long beating it just took from the massive solar storm, but the meager protection that Luke had been trying to convince people was over this part of the Atlantic was now entirely gone. The surface of the ocean under this area in the Earth's magnetosphere had no protection from the Sun's rays or any other type of cosmic radiation. It was essentially wide open to outer space. Only the atmosphere separated the surface of the planet from the harsh radioactive space of our solar system. And according to the numbers on the screen, the hole had radically changed direction, speed and heading. He didn't need the target acquisition software to see that this new course was on a direct path for the U.S. Mainland. Luke looked hard at his uncle.

"I need to contact NASA. I need to tell them what's happening."

Marshall turned around and punched a couple of key-spots on the virtual keyboard console, again. A diagnostic warning window popped up on the main screen. Several individual warning lines were flashing in the notification box. He hit another couple of keys and a diagram popped up next to the first one. This window had an icon flow schematic of key systems. The communication system icon was flashing red. Marshall selected the flashing key-spot on the console in front of him and a new diagram of various communication systems slid into view on the main screen in front of the helm. The specialized antenna for the buoy system was shielded and still working. But all of the long-range radio communication antenna symbols were flashing red, meaning they were out of commission.

He quickly checked and saw that GPS and guidance radar were still up, but Marshall realized the situation was not good as far as getting any messages out. He quickly glanced at the nervous look his nephew had on his face and made a command decision that he needed to lighten the mood before this got out of hand. He slowly rotated his Captain's chair around toward Luke and put his calm face on.

"Bad news my young Jedi friend. It seems the Emperor has used his dark-force to destroy all our antennae, which were outside, of course. Unless you can telepathically reach someone... or perhaps yell really loudly... we're screwed as far as communicating with anybody. Other than our guests." Then he gave his nephew an ear to ear grin with teeth.

Luke didn't bite. He quickly got a distracted look, then turned back to Marshall. He was suddenly Doctor Luke Tomkin, PhD.

"Speaking of our guests. I should check them again, now that everything is calmer. I need a little bit of info about how the kids got burned. If they caught a big enough dose, I'll have to treat them for the radiation. How long until we can get into a port somewhere?"

Marshall didn't need the navigation computer for this one.

"We're over twenty-six-hundred miles from Florida. At max cruising speed, we can't get to land anywhere until late tonight at the earliest, and that would be the Antilles. We'll hit the Bahamas next, but it'll be the middle of the night. Washington may not be awake or in the office. If I head straight into Miami without any stops, I can get us there by early in the morning. Besides, if the kids need medical treatment, it'll be easier in the states."

Luke nodded his head as he absorbed this data and started for the stairs down below.

"I better go get the kids into the infirmary—" Then he suddenly stopped and turned back to Marshall. "I guess it's a darn lucky thing you just happen to have an infirmary on-board this fishing boat, right?"

"Always be prepared." Marshall just smiled and crossed his arms. "I was a Boy Scout. Remember?"

Luke stepped back toward his uncle and stopped in the middle of the room. He turned his head and looked out the back of the boat, then from side to side. And then he looked up at the ceiling and quickly down to the floor. He bit the inside of his lip for just a second, as his eyes looked off into the distance for a moment. Then he smiled innocently at his uncle.

"Marshall, why did we drop out of jet hydrofoil? Did we run out of jet fuel?"

He waited for the answer like an attorney. He already knew the answer.

His uncle didn't catch it in time.

"No. We have plenty of jet fuel. I programmed the Navigational computer to stop—"

Luke interrupted him.

"We do, huh? 'Cuz, I just calculated how much three-dimensional space this vessel occupies. And I also recall the number of stops we made to fuel-up on the way out here. Which would be zero. I figured you had extra tanks put in to carry the fuel. But I've seen almost all of the ship, except for the actual engine room. And you would've had to use enough jet fuel to account for about half of the fuel-usable cubic meters in the entire boat, just now, getting us here at full throttle."

Marshall was starting to get uncomfortable. His nephew was way too smart. But he just listened as Luke went on.

"Interestingly, the average yacht this size burns fuel at a rate that would take almost exactly the same amount of space as I just calculated you have aboard, to make the total round trip without refueling... which is just barely enough to make it by my calculations. And if you can take us straight back into Miami with no stops, then that means all the fuel on-board is diesel for the engines, not fuel for the jets. Am I right, so far?"

Marshall didn't answer. He didn't smile either. Luke pushed on, anyway.

"So as you can see, my dear but mysterious uncle, either there is barely enough diesel fuel for us to make it back to Miami... and you're out of jet fuel... or, as you say, you have plenty of jet fuel and there's not enough engine diesel to make it back. So, which is it?"

Marshall really hated his nephew's big brain, sometimes. Now, he was the one who reached for a straw. "You don't know what rate the jets burn the fuel—"

Luke interrupted him before he finished. "Yeah, I do. That jet engine is the same size as the GE turbo model number 61-2-78—"

Marshall interrupted this time.

"How do you know this? Wait, let me guess. You read a book on jet engines once, right? And now you can quote the entire maintenance manual to me, right?" The sarcasm was overflowing from Marshall.

"Always be prepared. Isn't that what you said?" Luke smiled and crossed his arms. "Even if I didn't have the engine catalog memorized, the size of the boat would have given it away. The necessary horsepower to push the tonnage of a vessel this size at over one-hundred-and-seventy knots is approxi—"

He didn't get to finish, again.

"Fine... You know what the fuel burn is. But you're wrong about the fuel capacity on-board."

Luke just kept smiling with his arms crossed. "No... I'm not. And you know I'm not."

Luke knew his uncle well. Marshall's father, Luke's grandfather, used to restore antique Model-T Fords. One day, he let Luke stand next to him as he was disassembling a motor from his latest project car. Luke was not yet five years old at the time. As Luke's grandfather spent the next two hours taking off each part and carefully putting them on the ground next to the now empty engine block, Luke never took his eyes off of him or the engine. Grandpa Tomkin had never seen any of his other grandchildren pay attention like that. He asked little Luke if he knew how all those parts went back together. Luke shook his head up and down. Grandpa Tomkin had sensed something before from Luke, so he decided to see if the child really did watch him take the engine apart. There were a couple of hundred individual pieces to the assembled engine that were now spread out around the engine block. He asked the four-year-old to show him how to put the parts on the floor back into the empty motor block.

For the next twenty-three and a half minutes, the still toddling mechanical savant told his Grandfather how each and every part on the floor went back into the engine in the reverse order they were taken off. And he did not make a single mistake. After Luke finished showing him where every single part went, Grandpa Tomkin promptly got up and took his amazing grandson by the arm. They walked slowly down the hill from his workshop to the farmhouse where Luke's grandfather lived. He and his grandson went into the kitchen where his Grandmother had made fresh oatmeal cookies. Luke took one. He smiled a devilish grin at her, and then he took another. Luke ran up and gave his Grandma a kiss on the cheek, and then he ran off to play.

Grandpa Tomkin walked over to the special cabinet he had in the corner of the formal dining room; the one only used for holidays. He opened the cabinet and reached into the back corner. When he pulled his hand out, it held a bottle of _Jack Daniels._ He used his other hand to retrieve a shot glass from the same back corner. Then he returned to the kitchen table and sat down. He slowly poured the glass full and shot the firewater down. Then he poured another.

Luke's grandfather told everyone about the incident. This was a man who knew all about engineers. He was the largest water well driller in all of Memphis, Tennessee and the surrounding three state area until municipal water put his company out of business. He knew his youngest grandson was different in a remarkable way.

So Marshall knew Luke was telling the truth when he said he just calculated it in his head. And he also knew that Luke's calculation was correct. But Luke decided to let him off the hook.

"Don't bother." He laughed as he turned to head downstairs again. "I don't wanna know." Then he made one more stop at the doorway to below deck. "Hey, did you keep the shark we caught yesterday?"

Marshall was happy to change subjects. "Yeah, why?"

"I need the liver. What about the list of supplies I told you to have in the infirmary for me? I never asked when I got on-board. Did you remember to bring them?"

"Yes, my impertinent evil twin. I remembered. But whaddya need that stuff for, now?" Marshall was more than a little curious. He never knew what his nephew was thinking up.

"I call it the radiation shake, my specialty. It'll help all of us recover from the radiation dose we took a little while ago. I'll go get the family up and moved into the infirmary. Then I'll whip up my herbal remedy for a radiation bath." He turned and started down the stairs.

Marshall gave a little sigh of relief that Luke dropped the line of questioning about the fuel on-board. That was a conversation he could not have right now, especially with guests on the ship.

Just then, Luke stuck his head back around the stairway wall. "And then you can tell me about how you actually power this boat of yours. Right, Uncle Marshall?" Then he gave him that look, again.

Marshall didn't buy it.

"Look Rain Man... why don't you go and help those poor children and stop trying to... to..." He didn't know how to finish the sentence without cursing. Finally, Marshall just pointed his hand downstairs and kept pointing. Luke shook his head then slipped back into the corridor and disappeared.

Marshall heard Luke chuckle to himself as his genius nephew headed down below.

"This is gonna be a long trip back to port," Marshall muttered out loud to himself. "A very long trip back."

He reached up onto the dash panel and fired up the multi-props. Then he engaged the navigation system and the boat slowly headed off to the west, again. It picked up speed quickly and then jumped into hydrofoil. After a few more minutes, the speedometer got to 125 knots and stayed there.

Marshall turned on the audible alarm for anti-collision sonar. This system watched for underwater debris or objects. It was always deployed on small sonar pods extended from the hydrofoil blades in the front of the boat. The resolution went down as the speed went up, which was not helpful. It was more critical to detect objects and debris in the water at high speed than at low speed. This was reason the boat was only meant go into emergency jet hydrofoil for short periods. If the hydrofoil blades on the _Moondance_ impacted a piece of debris while traveling at high speed, the result would be catastrophic. Below 125 knots, the system was statistically foolproof. Any object larger than about six inches was detected and avoided automatically.

Marshall visibly relaxed after the collision alarm was fully engaged. He'd be able to stay relaxed now, unlike the last two hours inside the radiation shielded hyperbaric chamber. Marshall didn't want to think about it, again. At 170 knots, the ability of the anti-collision detection system was drastically reduced. Even after the rescue of the Boudreaux family, he couldn't relax down below. Because he knew how dangerous it had been to put the boat into emergency jet-hydrofoil and then go below.

He had entrusted the lives of everyone aboard to the perfect computer calculations of an experimental safety system; one that could not make a mistake. But Marshall knew all computers could make mistakes. He knew this from personal experience; because computers were programmed by humans, and all humans made mistakes, sometimes terrible mistakes. Marshall knew this, too. And the consequences of those mistakes were something he knew about most of all. Like the consequences of a mistake in the collision avoidance system while the boat traveled in jet-hydrofoil at over 170 knots.

That would have been a terrible mistake.

Because that mistake would have caused everyone on-board to be violently spread across the surface of the Atlantic ocean in little bitty pieces.

That was why Marshall couldn't really sleep when he was waiting out the storm in the radiation-shielded chamber below deck.

Marshall shook his head to get the thought out of his mind as he turned and started for downstairs to help Luke with the Boudreaux family.
Chapter 12

T-MINUS: 47 HOURS 9 MINUTES

LOCATION:

MAYAN ARCHEOLOGICAL DIG, YUCATAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 12:59 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 18:59 GMT

• • • • •

"Hang on."

Marissé stopped abruptly, and Jacinto almost ran into her from behind. Before she started off into the pitch black darkness in front of her, she checked her watch one more time.

She first checked it when she and Jacinto returned to camp to get the equipment. They'd started into the pyramid about an hour after the aurora light show ended and everyone went home. They were back at the camp a half hour after they entered the pyramid and found the secret passage. Then they were back in the pyramid in under twenty minutes with arms full of equipment. She and her favorite Cuban grad student only marked off the body of the Mayan warrior in front of the hidden entrance. They would do the others later. Once they had it marked off, they photographed the body and the scene in detail, but quickly.

Then they laid out the specialized body bag that would wrap around and protect the almost five-hundred-year-old Warrior Priest. After so many centuries, his body was much lighter due to the loss of fluid weight. They both gingerly moved the hero onto the pure white cloth of his first formal funerary covering. Then they lifted the padded, anti-static, and germ-proof material over the partially mummified warrior. Both Marissé and Jacinto crossed their chests as they zipped the bag over the seated Mayan Priest. Peace and glory would now come to the chosen savior of the God in the Clear Rock. Five centuries after the heroic action of this one man; which were added to the hardworking sacrifice of millions of people over ten millennia; who came together to build this holy-purpose facility and to protect the God that commanded them to build it; after all of that, this one servant of the God of the Maya would finally be laid to rest in peace.

Then Marissé and Jacinto photographed and scaled the section of the carved relief wall that the holy soldier had leaned himself against. It was Jacinto that found the notch-plate in the topmost section of the oblong tunnel plug. They carefully used a rubberized crow bar to wiggle out the hatch covering the hidden corridor. After she had made sure the air inside the tunnel was not foul, she took the air circulator hose and pointed it into the hole. The air did not readily go into the tunnel. This meant that the hole did not open up into a vented room, which was unlikely anyway this deep underground.

But she had to check.

She was a scientist, and that's what they did. They checked things.

Marissé checked her watch, again. She and Jacinto were now headfirst and prone crawling through the hidden tunnel into the side of the subterranean chamber. Marissé had talked herself into this action by concluding that the deceased and scratched crawler outside the tunnel, must have come out from the tunnel. And since the tunnel did not seem to have any venting holes into another chamber or to the outside, then her conclusion, although tentative, was that the crawler had gone into the hole first and then crawled back out.

_'Hence the reason,'_ she thought to herself, _'I'm now on my hands and knees crawling into a coffin-sized hole toward who knows what.'_

Then she heard Jacinto behind her.

"Hey boss, who am I?"

Marissé stopped and looked back over her shoulder as best she could in the cramped square tube of stone. Jacinto had turned off his headlamp and had his flashlight shining up in his face. He looked around as he crawled a little bit forward and put on a metro New York accent.

"Come out to the Coast... We'll get together... We'll have a few laughs." Then he stopped and looked at her. It was the same ole Jacinto, now. "Whaddya think?"

Marissé wasted no time.

"It's a terrible impression of Bruce Willis in _Die Hard,_ the original movie" Then she turned and started crawling again. "You should quit this whole PhD thing and go into celebrity impersonation. You've got a future... just a lousy one."

Jacinto took it in stride. "You know I would be upset at your harsh Broadway review, but you've got such a cute butt."

Marissé crawled a little faster to increase the distance between her butt and the face of her assistant. She almost didn't see the end of the tunnel. She quickly stopped moving and held her momentum back as she reached the end of the stone passageway. Jacinto stopped crawling right behind her just as she pulled out her spotlight pen. She peered into the room with the light like a baby looks around the room when first waking up in the morning. Every look and glance was intentional and all-absorbing. Marissé could see the small chamber was closed on all sides. The only way into the room was the tunnel she and Jacinto were in. The small room was also clear of debris or any sign of instability and cave-in activity. After she made the perimeter and ceiling inspections, she turned the light toward the only object in the cramped room.

The bright LED shone like a beam on the pedestal in the middle of the low-ceiling chamber. Then the light dropped straight down. Marissé looked closely below the ledge of the tunnel on the floor. She had learned the hard way that you better not step anywhere in a pyramid that you have not first examined closely. But the stone floor below her looked solid and unbroken. So she reached forward with her hand and pushed on it.

Nothing moved.

There was no secret trap or deadman's switch which would prevent entrance to the chamber.

Of course, this was exactly what she expected, but you never know until you look and feel. She slid forward into the chamber, and Jacinto followed right behind her. They were still on all fours because the room was too low to stand, and it was slightly too low to stoop over comfortably. A faint whisper breeze also came in from a small diameter ventilation tube that Jacinto dragged in behind him. But the circulation did not reach into the room very far. The two archeologists looked at each other for just a second as they both breathed in the fresh air from the small duct. On an unspoken mark, they crawled over to the pedestal together.

Marissé slipped off the small backpack she wore and pulled out a Sten-Lamp. She unfolded the legs on the lithium-ion battery and extended the pole with the LED head. She switched it on then placed it near the pedestal and pointed the flood light at the side and top.

Jacinto mirrored her on his side. Then they both pulled out small brushes and leaned in to look closely at the carved stone box with their headlamps. The pedestal was covered with the same strange three-dimensional relief carvings and the same unknown glyphs. Marissé was starting to recognize the glyphs. But she still had no idea what they meant. These glyphs appeared nowhere else in all of the Mayan writing known to man, which wasn't a whole lot of writing to begin with. That's why the unknown glyphs didn't worry her all that much; not right now. Although the fundamentals of the Mayan language had been deciphered, the full, diverse writing that existed during the actual reign of the Mayans was just starting to be understood. The current level of knowledge came from only a handful of documents that survived the Spanish Christian purge of the Mayan Kingdom and was actually not much more than a beginner level. As more examples of ancient Mayan writing were discovered, new glyphs were expected.

"Hey Boss?"

_'That, on the other hand, was unexpected,'_ Marissé thought to herself as she looked up from the spot she had been inspecting.

Jacinto had his head below the edge of the carved top on the other side of the pedestal. When he stuck his head up, he actually looked excited. Unlike how he looked when Marissé had informed him that they were about to climb into the hole and crawl into the mountain. He wasn't excited at all, then. But now, Jacinto had a grin that went from ear to ear.

"You're not gonna believe this. Did you bring that piece of rock from between the legs of our creepy crawler outside?"

Marissé slid around the pedestal to him. Then she reached into the pocket on her shorts and retrieved the curved stone. Jacinto pointed to a spot near the top edge of the carved pedestal. As both of their headlamps and hand lights converged on the stone top, the hole in the carving glared out at them. Marissé reached out with the rock and held it in front of the hole.

_'It obviously goes right here,'_ she thought to herself.

She could see how the curves matched perfectly, but she couldn't get it into the place where it went. She pulled it back and slid forward to look closely at the rock carving. Then she leaned down and looked under the broken section. Suddenly, she popped her head up then snapped it toward Jacinto.

"There's a seam under here. This is a top... The piece broke off before they finished putting it on. That's why it won't fit in now."

She quickly crawled back over to the other side and grabbed the top of the pedestal. "Lets see if we can budge this thing."

"Don't you wanna take pictures first?"

She knew that she should. But first she wanted to see if they needed more equipment.

"Nah... Let's just see if we can move it. We can document everything in a minute."

Then she stood up and bent at the waist over the edge of the pedestal top. Jacinto carefully bent over the top opposite her. They had practiced picking things up together many times. It only made sense that an archeology field team would be able to move large, heavy items with only their bodies and leverage, which was what they used now.

On the count of three, they grunted and lifted up on the stone cover. It moved up and slid to the side just enough to catch the edge and not slip back down. They both suddenly thought there had to be something under this top. Otherwise, why would they have put it here. As they rested for a moment and leaned their weight against the pedestal, Marissé had a follow-up thought.

"This thing is too big to move it in here. They had to build this room around this box."

"Well, hopefully that means something valuable is inside," snapped Jacinto. "Come on, let's get it open."

Marissé smiled as she got into position, again. This time they grunted after the count, and the heavy top slid about a foot-and-a-half to the side with the grating sound of stone on stone. When they both relaxed for the rest interval, they looked over and saw a deep opening in the smooth pedestal underneath the sliding cover. The lights from their headlamps threw a dark set of shadows into the rectangular hole's interior. Then they both got the same idea at the same time. They leaned forward and pointed their headlamps into the hole.

The bluish white light from the low energy bulbs shone over the dark carved mahogany of the box, like pale sunlight from a pair of miniature stars. It was the first light to touch the box in almost five centuries.

Marissé slid over in front of the opening. She put her hands on the edge of the stone top then pushed her weight into it with her legs, and the top slid another six inches to the side. Then she leaned over the table and gingerly reached inside the hole with her flashlight. She quickly looked around the edges with the LED light and her headlamp. After she was satisfied with the inspection, she put the penlight into her mouth and reached into the hole, placing her hands on the sides of the mysterious wooden box. She gently curled her fingers under the edge of the intricate carving without touching the stone sides of the hole's interior. Slowly she began to lift the box and then she stopped and listened.

Then she repeated this process. Up several millimeters. Stop. Listen. Repeat.

After a few minutes, the box was clear of the surface of the pedestal.

Jacinto took his flashlight, and like the coordinated efforts of a bomb-squad, he examined the underside of the box and the bottom of the hole while Marissé held it steady. When he finished, he shook his head from side to side.

"Looks clean... no booby traps." Then he smiled at her. "I wonder who thought up that name? Booby Trap? That's funny when you think about it."

Marissé carefully moved the box to the top of the smooth pedestal that had been created specifically to hold it. She pulled the flashlight out of her mouth and began to look closely at the box as she answered him.

"Probably some booby who didn't have boobies."

Then she leaned in and looked closely at one of the corners of the box.

"This is one solid piece of wood. There's no joinery in the corners."

She sat up for a second as she thought about something. Then she turned off her flashlight and stuck it back in its belt case. She grabbed the corners of the wooden case and lifted the cover straight up and off. She quickly looked at the top and bottom of the mahogany cover with her headlamp.

Jacinto didn't move.

Marissé carefully set the wooden cover on the pedestal top beside the lower half. Inside the bottom of the mahogany box, was a beautiful and intricately patterned cloth of exceedingly delicate thread. Marissé reached into the other pocket on her shorts and pulled out a fresh pair of cotton gloves. She and Jacinto had both used another clean pair when they handled and moved the Warrior Priest's body outside the twenty-five meter long tunnel into this eight-sided chamber. She carefully lifted the cloth as Jacinto moved the Sten-Lamps over to shine on the box interior. Underneath the beautiful and mysterious cloth, was a clear crystal-looking sheet—

_'No, make that a plate or a tablet,'_ thought Marissé, as she opened both edges of the multicolored cloth to reveal the entire artifact.

In the lights from the multiple LED flood heads, the tablet-shaped crystal plate reflected thousands of tiny prisms of light. Marissé leaned in to look closely, but her headlamp reflected off the shiny crystal surface and back into her eyes, momentarily blinding her. She quickly reached up and switched her headlamp off. When she looked back at the box, she could see what made the prisms of light bounce off of the shiny surface of the artifact. Marissé saw what looked like tiny engraved glyphs and writing of some sort in the intense glow of the artificial floodlights. Suddenly, her eyes got wide as she quickly glanced over the entire surface of the unbelievable plate of whatever the hell it was.

She retrieved her flashlight again then looked through the clear plate to the bottom of the case. There was nothing else in the box, which she could see had been carved out of a single piece of mahogany and was meant to hold just one thing, this artifact. She looked at the hole in the pedestal and realized the rock interior was custom carved to hold just one thing also, the box with the artifact inside of it.

She turned back to the bottom half of the dark mahogany case as she slowly reached in and grabbed the glass plate by the outside edges of what appeared to be the sides. The area that appeared to be the top was slightly bowed upward. The other three sides were perfectly straight. The tablet-shaped artifact was almost two feet wide. The width to height ratio was about the same as a large widescreen computer monitor. The long, straight side looked like it should be the bottom if you leaned it against something or hung it on a wall. This odd shape made Marissé curious, as she lifted it out and held it up to the LED lights. Then she peered closely at the mysterious plate of glass and wondered out loud.

"What the hell is this thing?"

Jacinto had been trying to pick his jaw up off the floor this whole time. He finally succeeded in speaking.

"Wow..."

That ended his tirade.

Marissé barely noticed him but kept talking to herself.

"The writing looks engraved. But how is that possible?" She shifted the heavy artifact in her hands and held another section in front of the LED Sten-Lamps as she looked closely at the engravings. Around the perimeter of the flat surface were blocks of different types of incredibly tiny carved glyphs, but the type of writing appeared to be the same in each different block. She moved the bottom of the artifact up into the light. The engravings at the bottom center looked utterly foreign to her. They looked like icons or runes.

_'Maybe it was just artistic doodles,'_ she thought, as she finally looked at the large center of the thick plate of glass. In the very middle, was an engraved drawing of the Sun. It was unmistakable what the image was intended to be. The almost perfect circular image had stylized solar rays all around the edge, as the Sun was universally drawn by all primitive civilizations and children. The entire plate looked like a picture of the Sun with captions all around. But the Sun had a few strange rays that stuck out on one side of the Sun image. These stylized arms reached out much farther than any of the other rays coming off the iconic Sun image.

They looked remarkably like a massive solar explosion or some type of ultra solar flare.

Marissé quickly passed up the Sun image and returned to the top center block of glyphs.

"This is definitely Mayan writing up here. But it has those same damn mystery glyphs, which are all over this place."

Jacinto slid in closer to see what she was talking about, but he just stared at the artifact. Marissé didn't notice him and kept talking out loud to herself.

"That block to the right of the Mayan glyphs is strange though. It almost looks Olmec..." She stopped talking and leaned in closer to this section now. "Whoa... It has those same shaped glyphs as these unknown Mayan ones."

This got Jacinto's attention. He decided to join the one-sided conversation. "Maybe it's an interim Mayan Olmec mix. Look at the block to the right of that one, Boss. That is classic Olmec writing."

Marissé immediately saw that her assistant was correct. "Nice catch, Hassi. Okay, you're off the hook for the sword-tip thing—" She suddenly stopped talking again in mid-sentence and tilted her head slightly. Then just as abruptly, she started up again. "Look, the Olmec block has the same strange glyphs." She quickly glanced at the other two blocks. "And they're in the same place in each block set."

She lowered the panel back onto the box, but set it catty-corner and kept it in the light, while she rested her arms.

Jacinto leaned over and stuck his face into the glassy engraved surface. When he spoke, he turned his head to look at Marissé and tried not to breathe on it. "Whatever it is, it doesn't look like typical Royal Dynasty records. Those text blocks look more like the style of the Dresden Codex. It looks like a story or something."

Marissé tilted her head and frowned at him. "A story or something? Nice commitment there, Hassi. Is that how you're gonna defend your dissertation?"

Jacinto moved away from the artifact and frowned back at her.

"I don't even know what I'm gonna do for my dissertation... Do you have any suggestions?" Then he gave her his famous grin.

Marissé missed it because something caught her mind. She started scanning the different blocks around the perimeter.

"I think the blocks say the same thing in different languages."

Jacinto quickly dropped the smirk and jumped back next to her.

"You're talking about a Mayan Rosetta Stone. That's not possible." He started scanning the blocks himself. "It wouldn't work anyway. We don't know how to completely translate any of these languages. Right Boss?"

Marissé looked up from the artifact on the wooden case. Then she raised her eyebrows and frowned at Jacinto, again. "Hassi, what have I told you about using expressions like a Mayan Rosetta Stone?" Then she crossed her arms.

He hated it when she did that. Jacinto instinctively backed up a few inches and waited. He knew it was coming.

"This is as bad as that drunken mind-game you tried to play with me the other night, the Corona Light night, and that ten-thousand-year-old pyramid theory of yours. Remember?" She was mostly playing with him, but she didn't let him answer. "You're gonna lose my grant for me if you start talking about things like a Mayan Rosetta Stone... Comprendé mi amigo?"

Now, she waited for him to answer. He didn't make her wait long.

"Sorry Boss." Then he smiled earnestly.

She let up and smiled back. Then she looked at the artifact, again.

"What I said was, I think the writing says the same thing. Look." She pointed at the block to the right of the Olmec block. "This block looks older than Olmec. And the strange looking glyphs, which are almost the same in the first three blocks, are in the same places." Then she started to point at the next blocks in order. "In fact, it looks like all the blocks have these strange glyphs in the same places—"

Jacinto interrupted.

"You might be onto something, Boss." He was focused on the left side of the plate glass mystery. "This block doesn't look Mayan or Olmec, or even Meso-American for that matter. This looks like cuneiform, almost Sumerian?"

His inflection at the end gave away his uncertainty.

Marissé picked up the artifact in her gloved hands, again, and held the left side up to her face. She could see Jacinto through the glass as she looked at the new engravings.

"No. It's not Sumerian."

Jacinto got a wide-eyed look. He might have just failed another pop quiz. Marissé shifted the artifact around and began to scan the left side.

"But you're right, the cuneiform does look related to Sumerian. It could be older."

Jacinto relaxed and smiled a little. Not an A+ but not an F, either. _'So far, so good,'_ he thought to himself. He got his nerve up and took another swing. "Well, the obvious question is why any type of Old World pre-Egyptian writing would be engraved on a Mayan artifact? One that we just uncovered in a New World pyramid. And by the way, Boss, that's not me talking crazy, this time. It's you."

Marissé put the artifact back down. It was getting heavy.

"Even a bigger question than 'why' is 'how' did they do this? This engraving is tiny. Neither the Olmec nor the Mayans had the tools to engrave a block of glass this big. And where'd they get the crystal from? They weren't supposed to have the capability to make anything like this, either."

"None of the Meso-American civilizations had that level of technology." Jacinto was staring at the artifact. "So that throws out both how and why? What's left... who and what? I got nothing on either count. How 'bout you, Boss? Any ideas on what this is or who made it?"

Marissé was not listening to him, again. She was staring off into space. Then she slowly got an idea. When Jacinto saw her, he just shut up and watched the magic. She looked down at the artifact glowing softly in the battery operated light. Then she started talking to herself, again.

"If this truly is pre-Sumerian, and these blocks are all translations of the same text—"

She stopped and counted the blocks in her head but looked up before she finished them all.

"There's easily over ten blocks here. That's the magic number, I think. With a sample size this large, we might be able to—"

Marissé stopped in mid-sentence and looked over at her confused assistant.

"Quiz time... Do you know what quantum computer cryptography is my young and sweaty intern?"

She was right. They were both sweaty, now. The ventilation was not actually keeping up with the combination of an almost hermetically sealed room combined with their infrared body heat and their moisture laden breath. The temperature and humidity was going to continue to rise the longer they stayed in here. But Jacinto would have been sweating, anyway. He didn't have a clue what the question on this latest pop-quiz meant.

"I thought that wasn't supposed to be on the exam?" He tried to be funny. It didn't work.

Marissé shook her head and smiled.

"Don't worry. I don't know what it is, either. But I do know we might be able to use it to translate our little Mayan Rosetta Stone."

Jacinto started to object to her confiscation of his taboo name. She stopped his frown.

"Named by you, of course."

Then she picked the artifact up with her gloved hands. She gently placed it back inside the custom carved mahogany case that took forty-seven years to manufacture by hand. But she would never know that. After she placed the carved wooden top back over the box, she picked it up and regally placed it in Jacinto's gloved hands. He looked from the box to his boss and then smiled. Marissé smiled like a Queen who was about to Knight her favorite son.

"You may have the honor of carrying this out and to the surface," she said as she ceremoniously bowed her head at him from a kneeling position in front of the pedestal.

Jacinto's smile dropped immediately.

He was pretty sure this was not an honor. He remembered the knees and feet of the dead guy outside the hole they came in; the twenty-five-meter hole through solid rock. Getting this priceless wooden artifact out of here would be a long and painful task. He started to whine.

"Awwww Boss, I know I flunked the pop-quiz, but come on. Aren't you even gonna help me?"

Marissé smiled and slightly shook her head. "No mi amigo. Not this time. This you must do yourself."

"But Boss... why?" He sounded hurt.

She smiled a broad and genuine smile.

"Because if you're right and this turns out to be a Mayan Rosetta Stone, then you just earned your PhD... As soon as you finish your dissertation on that beautiful box and its magnificent contents... That's why you must do this yourself."

Jacinto hadn't thought this one through, obviously. Because, now that she put it that way, the job seemed much more manageable. Suddenly, Jacinto's face morphed into a glowing smile. Then he started bouncing his head up and down and looking around.

"Oh Yeah... Doctor Jacinto... Hey, howya doing, Doctor Jacinto." He stuck his hand out to an imaginary colleague, and then another. "Hey, howya doing, Doctor Jacinto."

Marissé turned to get out of this ancient stone oven. She looked back as she crawled toward the exit hole. Jacinto had put down the box and was now having a conversation with a group of imaginary colleagues. He introduced himself several times as more imaginary people walked up and joined his group while they listened to him tell how he found the amazing Mayan Rosetta Stone. Which, he suddenly informed them, they were thinking of renaming the Mayan Jacinto Stone.

Marissé chuckled to herself. _'He really is funny... Sometimes, anyway.'_ She stopped crawling and yelled back to him.

"Hey, Doctor Jacinto. When you're finished with your mini cocktail press-conference, meet me up top with the box. Si, Señor?"

Jacinto waved to her out of the corner of his imaginary fifteen minutes of fame, and she started crawling toward the tunnel, again. Then Jacinto remembered something and excused himself from his crowd of invisible admirers.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Marissé stopped in front of the tunnel to the outer chamber, "I've got to go make a satellite telephone call. That way, I can see if you really deserve all of this attention." Then she gestured to Jacinto's invisible throng of party followers.

He shook his head and smiled even larger.

"Yeah. You'll have to tell me more about how we actually become so famous. You know, that crypto-quanta-mack-daddy stuff you were babbling about earlier."

Marissé laughed out loud. "I don't know what it means. But I do know the guy who invented it. That's the call I'm about to make. Adios amigo. I'm off to the land of fresh air." Then she waved her fingers at him.

Jacinto went right back to his cocktail party entertaining.

She chuckled again as she shimmied into the hole on all fours. As she adjusted her headlamp and started toward the dim lights coming from the tiny hole in the distance, she started to daydream herself.

It's a formal dinner at some grand Archeology forum somewhere in the not-too-distant future. A respected colleague is standing behind a podium in the middle of the wide table on stage in front of a large crowd of her peers. He's about to about to introduce the keynote speaker for the evening. Marissé is sitting next to the man who is speaking, right beside the podium.

She is the honored guest at this meeting.

As she listens to the man read off a few of her recent and glorious accomplishments, she tries not to blush. Then he gets to the actual introduction. Marissé prepares to stand up and move to the microphone. She listens as the speaker proudly and very formally introduces her.

"I'd like to introduce Doctor Marissé Sanchez, the most famous Archaeologist in the World..."

That's what she's waiting to hear.

She gracefully pushes back her chair and steps over to the podium. Then she graciously thanks her esteemed colleague.

Then she gets to shine in the spotlight.

Jacinto may want to impress his colleagues at the faculty dinner parties, but not her. Her stage was going to be the whole world.

That's what Marissé was thinking about as she crawled toward the fresh air.

That's why she was grinning from ear to ear.

That, and the fact she knew just who was going to help her get that dream.

The problem was going to be reaching him.

Things had changed a lot since they last spoke.

A lot of things had changed since then.

She wasn't sure if she was excited, or nervous.
Chapter 13

T-MINUS: 46 HOURS 46 MINUTES

LOCATION:

MIDDLE OF THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 4:22 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 19:22 GMT

__

__

• • • • •

"Dawnne, you need to stop wiggling. Are you hurting again?"

Luke was standing next to the bio-bed that had Dawnne Boudreaux face down in it. The medical exam bed could be reconfigured for both face-up and face-down positioning, like a massage table. It could also be indented from below to accommodate breasts. Dawnne was wiggling in the bed trying to get her fourteen year old breasts to fit into the cavity only partially designed to fit her small-sized body. Luke was trying to keep her intravenous drip line in her arm and check the blisters on her back. She wasn't helping him.

He had given both of the children a mild painkiller. The injuries on their backsides were like a severely blistered burn, but not much more. Right now, Luke was ready to grab Dawnne's raw shoulders and push her down onto the bed if she didn't stop fidgeting. But he didn't get the chance. She stopped moving and made a loud groan that could be heard clearly through the face opening in the bed.

"It doesn't fit right."

"Is it hurting you?"

Luke hadn't checked closely when he put her on the bed and lowered the chest cavity. She was still topless, and he didn't want to embarrass her. Because her injuries covered over half of her body, he couldn't let her put on a gown top or sheet. Her and her brother were face-down on two of the bio-beds in the infirmary next to each other. Both of them had intravenous lines running into their arms. And both had oozing peeling skin on the entire back surface of their young bodies.

Luke had already cut the burned and melted swimming suit off her brother. Now he had to cut off the only piece of clothing left on the young girl. Her skimpy swimsuit bottom had melted from the intense radiation blast and was now attached to the top layer of skin on her buttocks. Luke had to use a spray-on local anesthetic to peel off the swim trunks and skin from Trés Boudreaux. The fifteen year old boy did not act manly during the procedure.

Dawnne now regretted her secret laughs at her brother during his swimming-trunkectomy. Luke had told Dawnne she was next when he walked over to her bio-bed a minute ago. She'd been fidgeting ever since. She finally stopped in a huff.

"No... It doesn't hurt. It just doesn't fit right."

Luke leaned down and looked. Her small breasts were not touching the bottom of the sunken cavity in the padded, sensor-filled bed. He reached down below the bed frame then turned the pneumatic adjustment knob, and the cavity began to rise with a compressed air hiss. When he saw the side of her small breast start to bulge out slightly, he stopped the air.

"Is that better?" He stood up and walked over to the tray with the instruments before she could say anything. He glanced back and saw her start to wiggle again. He smiled to himself. He knew what she was doing; trying to delay the inevitable.

"Stop fidgeting, Dawnne... I have to get this melted cloth out of your skin... And you know this is gonna be uncomfortable... So stop putting it off."

Dawnne knew she was busted. She stopped moving. She started whimpering a little bit, but mostly to herself.

Her mother and father were across the room on their own bio-beds. They were lying flat on their backs, and both had intravenous drip lines in their arms, but their bio-beds were tilted up at an angle so they could see their children. A small footstep was at the bottom of the mattress and had been adjusted to fit under their outstretched legs. Janine and Dwayne were both closely watching Luke as he worked on their daughter. Marshall stood next to Dwayne and checked his intravenous lines and the monitor data on the computerized screen above his bed.

The infirmary aboard the _Moondance_ was a fully functional medical facility. In fact, it could function as a small operating room if necessary. The large room could be subdivided and sterilized in compartments. But right now, the room was in its fully open configuration. It had five beds that were mounted in the floor and could be lowered and raised pneumatically. They could also be tilted in virtually any direction.

Above the head of each bio-bed, was a tall screen mounted on the bulkhead wall, which displayed a computer generated outline of the patient in the bed. Sensors in the mat of each bed and around the perimeter of the frame were capable of reading basic metabolic information remotely. Heart rate, blood pressure, respiration and a body scan of temperature were displayed numerically and graphically on the screen behind the bed. The tall screens were actually high-definition LED monitors, which had been turned vertically. The scanned outline of the patient's body was centered in the vertical monitor, and the temperature scan from the bed was displayed inside the white outline. There were several tiny video and thermal infrared cameras above each bed, in the corners of the frame, and on the movable roll bar arm across the top of the mattress. The patient's entire body could be photographed and video-recorded from head to toe without moving them.

The colors of the thermal reading above each bed made the outlined body look like it was colored by a kindergartner on LSD. Outside the body image were various charts of the metabolic data readings. Other types of data were also listed and monitored here. Any fluids that were being given intravenously, for instance, were monitored and graphically shown with level meters. The information wasn't just for show, either. All of the information was routed from each bio-bed into a massive mainframe level computer that was located inside a shielded and cooled container behind a bulkhead wall.

The computer was programmed to have the medical knowledge-base of a large hospital staff. Diagnoses, treatments, and even multimedia instructions for everything from a stubbed toe to an emergency appendectomy were available from the on-board Doctor Bot, as Marshall had begun calling the medical computer. Out of the six humans and one dog currently in the infirmary, only Marshall knew why he called the computer by that name. He was also the only one who knew what the unmarked wall section near the back bulkhead wall was for. This was where Marshall was subconsciously looking when he noticed his nephew staring back at him.

Luke had independently come to the conclusion that there were a lot of things on this boat only his uncle knew about. But he intended to figure them out. It had now become a game, and he didn't lose at this sort of game.

Janine had been watching a moment earlier when Luke leaned down and looked at Dawnne's naked breast while he adjusted the bed. Although Luke only briefly saw her daughter from the side, Janine had given Dwayne a look. He knew what it meant. Dwayne cleared his throat and spoke to Marshall.

"I honestly cannot tell you how grateful I am..."

Marshall jumped into the brief pause. "But?"

Dwayne smiled as he knew he was caught leading into a subject. He should have just come out and said it. These men deserved to be treated up front.

"You're right... Let's try that again. I have a few questions. I know you told us who you are. But why are you two out here, and why do you have a ship like this, which was obviously meant to handle what we just went through? And finally, what was that thing we just went through?" Then Dwayne looked Marshall straight in the eyes.

Marshall stopped working and returned the locked gaze.

"Fair question... You and your family got caught under the hole in the planet's magnetic field, which is what we're out here to study. My nephew, Luke, is a scientist at NASA. For the past several years, he's been studying the hole in the field called the Atlantic Anomaly. That's where you were when a really bad solar storm hit... the kind we've been having for the past year. You and your family got caught outside without an umbrella... a lead umbrella."

Janine looked at Marshall. "Somebody should have warned people. We almost died."

"They did have warnings, Sweetheart." Dwayne was slowly nodding his head in understanding as he glanced over at his wife. "That's why I had the lead-sheet panels installed in the top of the boat and under the deck."

"That would explain why you and your wife are not as burned as these two." Luke joined the conversation from where he was peeling melted cloth off Dawnne's butt cheeks. He talked through the surgical face mask he had put on to protect the young girl's open, burned skin from his breath.

Suddenly, Dwayne felt the need to lighten the moment. It was starting to feel a little too tense. He needed to relax. He smiled at Luke across the room.

"Wait a minute. If we weren't as burned as the kids, why did we have to drink that... that..."

Dwayne could not find the right words to describe the radiation shake that Doctor Tomkin had ordered everyone to drink. After tasting a sip, Dwayne had to see both Marshall and Luke drink theirs before he shot his down in three horrible gulps. He finally found some words to describe the thick brown liquid torment.

"... shark poop shake? Are you saying you made me drink that unnecessarily?" Then Dwayne made an authentic yuck face.

It worked. The mood lightened immediately, and everyone chuckled.

Luke started to ramble as he worked on Dawnne.

"Aw, come on. A little fresh shark liver for your alkoxy-glycerols. A little humic acid, in its sodium salt, of course. Some grape seed extract and fulvic acid, just in case you have any heavy metals in your system. Then you add soy-isolated protein, milk thistle and shiitake mushrooms. Plus some reishi, cats claw, red beet and green algae, a little fennel, green tea, quercetin, a dash of astragalus, ginkgo biloba with three types of ginseng... And of course, the real secret ingredient, fresh sea kelp and—"

He looked up and stopped mid-sentence. Everyone was staring. It was too much information. He almost whispered his next thought.

"... alfalfa..." Then he tried to recover, but it sounded like pleading. "Well, there's a lot more stuff in it. It's really good for you. It'll help your immune system fight the radiation damage. It really works..."

Luke realized it was a tough crowd. Everyone was staring at him with a look that said, _'We don't care. It tasted like poop.'_ He looked down and continued to peel off his young patient's melted butt-skin and swimming suit. But, he finished with a joke.

"Yeah, I know it tasted bad. But you should see what it does for your teeth. They'll be so white, you might get blinded."

Now everyone laughed out loud. Trés spoke for the first time since his swimming-trunkectomy and the wailing.

"I kinda liked the way it tasted."

His sister just groaned at him.

"Eeewwwwww."

This generated more laughs; real laughs. Dwayne used the break to change the subject.

"Captain Marshall, I'd love to see the rest of your boat when you get a moment. I happen to be in the market for a new one just now."

Everyone laughed again. It did everyone some good. Marshall looked at Dwayne between chuckles.

"Name's just Marshall. The only one who calls me Captain is my first mate, Gilligan." He looked over at Luke when he said this. Then he smiled when he looked back at Dwayne. "As soon as he clears you, I'll be happy to show you around my little fishing boat, the _Moondance_." He beamed with pride.

"Wow... This is a fishing boat? I never would have guessed that." Dwayne looked around the infirmary with a bit of a confused expression. Luke jumped back into the conversation but kept working.

"You know, that's what I keep saying, Dwayne. But ole Uncle Marshall over there has always led a pretty mysterious life. What was it everyone used to call you Uncle Marshall?" Then he stopped peeling and looked up at the group across the room, again. He smiled as he caught Marshall's eye. Marshall was giving him that 'don't do it' look.

Luke did it anyway.

"Oh yeah, I remember now. The 'Black Sheep' of the family... right?"

Marshall just smiled and took it in stride. He turned to Dwayne and spoke confidentially to him.

"See what you have to look forward to when they grow up, right? That's why I never had any of 'em."

The laughter erupted again.

Even Lola the dog was grinning.
Chapter 14

TIME REMAINING: 17 YEARS

LOCATION:

UNMARKED TESTING FACILITY, USA

DATE: APRIL 11, 1995 AD – 11:14 AM

• • • • •

"Stay here. Do not leave this spot. Wait here until called inside."

The fat boy with braces was waiting outside the hallway door to the room where he would take the next test. The monitor looked at him one last time, then walked away down the hall. He was almost twelve. He could follow instructions. She didn't have to lean down and look in his eyes when she repeated the command not to leave this spot.

He knew better.

He'd taken more than a dozen tests already this year at this special testing center near his new school, and he knew lots of things about this place. He knew, for instance, that the room down at the far end of the hall had a guard outside of it. And he knew the guard had a real M-16 machine gun and a uniform, but not like any uniform he'd ever seen before. It was gray and black, and the camouflage pattern was blocky and looked computer generated. And there were never any insignias or name tags on the guard's uniform, either.

The fat boy with braces wasn't sure what was behind the door with the guard, but he knew he'd never been in that room. Neither had anyone else he'd spoken to in this place.

That was another thing. You weren't supposed to speak to anyone here. There was a rule book, an actual book. And that was rule number one. No talking to anyone, ever. Rule two was no names. He was never referred to by name; none of the children were. In fact, they were never referred to at all. The amount of talking in the entire building was almost nothing. Instructions were always written. The only verbalizations were more like commands than instructions, or talking.

But they had to feed the kids who were here at lunchtime. And they didn't feed them in isolation. They fed them in a cafeteria. And the children talked. The adults couldn't stop them, even though they tried. Eventually a truce was reached. The children talked very quietly without moving their lips. And the adults either turned a blind eye, or they were not nearly as smart as the group of pre-teens they were supposed to be watching.

The fat boy with braces was sure the adults here were stupid.

It was the children who were the ones who felt like they were in charge. The adults who were at the testing facility never felt like they were in control of anything. They never had any idea what the hell was going on around them. Most of them were just babysitters with sidearms. They were not teachers or educators, just test monitors. During these tests, there were no verbal questions or clarifications that would be asked or given by anyone. And the layers of secrecy surrounding the program ensured the staff did not talk among themselves. The only consistent factor became the kids. Certain kids stuck around. Most of the others did not. Kids who stuck around got to be known. They kept coming back for more and more tests. And this particular testing facility was one of the few that had The Legend show up at it. And he did it on a pretty regular basis. At least that's what the fat boy with braces had heard.

But that was all anybody did when it came to The Legend, hear things.

The Legend only came in by himself and rarely did anyone else get to see him. He always tested alone, always. Nobody else was ever even allowed in the room with him. The fat boy with braces had spoken to a girl at lunch on the last testing day a week ago, who said she had seen him after a test session. She said he looked like he'd been at the beach. This caused the small group of kids at the lunch table to gasp quietly while everyone silently listened to the girl's story. The reason everyone gasped was because all of the tests given here were extremely difficult. Even the kids in the cafeteria did not fly through them. The tests took effort and attention to do well on them. It was exhausting to take these tests. Some kids came out of the tests crying or worse.

But not The Legend.

They were only stories, but the stories were unbelievable. He'd never missed a question. Nobody had ever scored a perfect score on so many exams. No one had ever gotten close to his scores. He finished in half the time. He took the test in pen. He never checked his answers. And the biggest one, he never talked to anyone, ever.

The rumors were all true.

The fat boy with braces leaned against the wall and sat on his hands. His belly growled as he stared down at his feet. He didn't know it yet, but this would be his last day here. He will not score well on today's test. He will be returned to his regular, advanced school program, and he will never come to this facility again or take another of these tests. He would go on to finish high school and go to college afterward. He would have average success in college. However, he would succeed well in life.

But right now, he just wished the proctor would open the door and let him go inside. He hated being out in the hall. This place scared him. To many Guvv-ment Geeks as he liked to call them. All the same haircut, all the same attitude.

Just then, the fat boy with braces heard something coming from the far end of the hall; the end with the mystery room and the guard with the M-16 machine gun. When he glanced up, he suddenly saw the guard as he walked toward the fat boy with braces.

And there was a boy who was walking next to him.

_'It's him... It's The Legend.'_ the round little boy thought to himself. The fat boy with braces had never seen him, but the girl who claimed she saw him had described him to everyone. And this kid looked just like him. He had brown hair and was fit, not like the fat boy with braces. He was chubby. The fat boy with braces had just gone shopping with his Mom for a suit to wear for Easter. He had to get a husky-sized suit. It was written on the label. He knew what husky meant. It meant fat.

The fat boy with braces had cried all night when they got home from the store. That next morning, he decided he was not going to be husky. He decided he was going to lose weight. And he had started to lose weight. He would continue to lose weight, too. And he would start college as a normal-sized young man.

But right now, he was still chubby, or husky, or whatever. What the fat boy with braces was not, was fit; like the boy who was quickly approaching him next to the guard with the big gun. The fat boy with braces could not see it, but his jaw was hanging down slightly.

• • •

As the boy with the big brain approached the rotund little boy in the hall, he laughed a little to himself.

_'He looks like a baby Humpty Dumpty.'_

He was in a foul mood because he was hungry and started to say something mean to the fat boy, who looked like he might start drooling at any moment. The fat boy's mouth was slightly hanging open as he approached him. As smart as the boy with the big brain was, he had no idea he'd become a geek celebrity among the other children in the nationwide secret program.

He changed his mind about being mean and just smiled at the fat kid with braces as he walked up. When he got right next to him, he stopped. The guard turned to say something, but the boy with the big brain pointed at his face with his finger and spoke very slowly.

"Don't say a word."

The guard gritted his teeth, but kept his mouth shut.

The boy with the big brain looked over at the round boy, who was a few years younger than him. Then he smiled at him again before speaking.

"Hey."

Before the husky boy could answer, the boy with the big brain turned and continued down the hall, to be alone and eat.

They always fed him in a room by himself; in front of a mirror.

• • •

The fat boy with braces smiled at the boy's back. He will remember this day, forever. At least, that's what he told himself as The Legend walked by him.

_'He spoke to me...'_

He won't care that he never gets brought back to this testing facility ever again. The fat boy with braces already knew something that the boy with the big brain would take years more to learn. And that was, school and tests don't matter; not in the real world.

The fat boy with braces knew what mattered. He was going to show everyone one of these days. He already knew that, too.

But right now, he just watched The Legend as the tall good-looking boy walked away down the hall with his armed escort.

The two boys will meet again.

But when that happens, neither of them will remember this day in the hall of the testing facility.

They'll be too busy running for their lives...
Chapter 15

T-MINUS: 45 HOURS 22 MINUTES

LOCATION:

MIDDLE OF THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 5:46 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 20:46 GMT

__

__

• • • • •

"I need to put the children back in the hyperbaric chamber for a while longer. The low pressure oxygen will help with the radiation and keep down any infection on their backside. They're gonna need some additional treatment when we get back to the mainland. But a hospital will be able to handle that better."

Luke and Marshall were escorting Janine and Dwayne to the guest quarters on the boat while Luke explained what was happening to their children, who were still in the infirmary. The back half of each child was severely blistered from the massive solar burn they'd received over five hours ago, but fortunately the other half was essentially undamaged. Janine looked over to Luke as they walked toward the cabins.

"Are they going to be alright?"

Luke smiled and nodded at her.

"They're lucky they got inside the boat as fast as they did when the storm hit. As far as I can tell, everyone... including Lola, is going to be okay. The children just need to give their backs a little time to heal in a clean environment. I'm going to set up the cots in the wall of the hyperbaric chamber so they can lie face down and sleep for a while. They need to rest. In fact, now that everyone has medicine in them, it'll do all of you good to take a little nap. When you guys wake up, we'll have some late dinner, and you and I can go see them together."

Janine smiled when she realized how tired she was. Marshall stopped in front of a cabin door and looked at Dwayne.

"There's a shower and some clothes inside. When you wake up, and we grab a bite to eat, I'll give you that grand tour I promised. We've got an all night trip ahead of us to get back to Miami. There's plenty of time."

Dwayne had a hard time keeping his eyes open. The medicine Luke had given him and his wife was beginning to have an effect. But he managed to perk up enough to shake Marshall's hand.

"You got yourself a bargain. I gotta see this boat." Then Dwayne's attention focused, and he made direct eye-contact with Marshall. He smiled as he held Marshall's hand in a tight grip. "Thank you... sincerely."

Marshall grinned and returned Dwayne's grip.

"You're welcome. I'm glad everyone's gonna be okay. Y'all get some rest. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Dwayne and Janine slipped into their cabin as the Tomkin men turned and started toward the hyperbaric chamber, mysteriously marked engine room, to get it ready for the two burned children. They made their way to the bottom corridor of the vessel while Luke chatted casually.

"Those folding berths in the guest quarters look an awful lot like the sleeping berths on a nuclear submarine. Did you know that?"

"Let me guess, more _Military Channel?"_ Marshall was thinking that somebody at the Pentagon ought to check out those guys over at the _Military Channel._ There seemed to be way too much information leaking out of the cable television sets in the country these days; information that formerly took the lives of spies to obtain. Now it seemed like you could just set your DVR and become a military expert.

Luke laughed. "You should check it out. You might be surprised what kind of information is floating around out there."

The door to the hyperbaric chamber was still latched open against the side bulkhead as they approached the end of the corridor. Luke went in first.

"I'll set up the sleeping cots in the wall. We can put the kids on them and keep their IV lines on the latch above the bed."

He walked past the panel that Marshall used to control the hyperbaric oxygen and pressure then headed for the back cots against the bulkhead wall. He stopped at the bunks and began to rearrange the bedding.

Marshall stepped in front of the control panel and bent over to adjust the chamber for the same setting they had earlier. He spoke over his shoulder to Luke.

"Okay, I'll set the gas mixture now. That way you'll just have to switch it on from outside when you get the kids back in here. Pure oxygen and half atmospheric pressure, right?"

Marshall turned back around and looked up to show Luke what he was doing. He didn't see Luke beside the cots, like he expected. What he saw was Luke standing in front of the door at the far end of the long radiation shielded pressure tube. Before Marshall could react, Luke twisted the latch and pushed it open. Marshall jumped up and sprinted to the other end of the chamber, while he cursed himself for not putting a lock on this pressure door, as well. It had never seemed necessary. Anyone inside had already passed the keypad security. And anyone coming from the other direction would—

He didn't have time to finish his thought. Before he could reach him, Luke jumped into the room on the other side of the door. Marshall got to the door in time to see Luke stand up from the seven step leap. Luke landed on a platform to another small flight of stairs that went down to the bottom of the boat. Where there should have been a pair of gigantic diesel engines, there were instead two mini-submarines. In the middle of the bottom hull, was what appeared to be a set of large watertight doors. Luke could see the doors covered a moon-pool opening in the bottom hull for launching the subs and divers from the boat.

Luke had already mentally photographed the entire room before Marshall grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. Then Marshall pushed his defiant, but now compliant, nephew up the stairs and back into the chamber. He pulled the door closed and turned back around to face his nephew. But Luke had already turned and was now walking back to the front of the corridor.

When Luke got there, he bent down and looked at the control panel where Marshall had been setting the gas mixture. Then he stood up and crossed his arms as he turned and stared at his uncle at the other end of the room. Marshall was also staring intently at Luke when he spoke.

"I should kick your ass."

Luke went in for the verbal judo.

"In a minute... But first, that walk-in refrigerator sized box in the rear of the real engine compartment was a US Atomic Mark-8 NeoDyne Power Block... Self-contained nuclear steam generator. Smallest design made, I believe."

Marshall was quickly closing the distance to the front of the long room but stopped in mid-stride. His jaw was also hanging slightly open. Luke continued on as if it were a product demonstration lecture.

"When combined with a high-temperature turbo steam propulsion system, like the Pratt and Whitney unit that was next to the Mark-8, by the way, it could easily power a big yacht this size... or maybe a small submarine. Say something in the range of a small Virginia or Los Angeles Class, maybe of a size under—"

"STOP, right there..."

Marshall interrupted his about-to-be-classified briefing and started toward him again.

"I know for a fact what you're about to say..."

He got to the spot where Luke was standing with his arms crossed, and a big smile on his face. Marshall didn't return the smirking grimace. Instead, he readjusted his attitude and continued.

"Is NOT something you saw on the _Military Channel..._ Am I right, so far?"

Luke just kept on smiling. Then he remembered something, and he smiled even bigger. But the sarcasm was evident when he answered Marshall.

"You know, you took a really big chance. The radiation shielding could have interfered with the nuclear generator. That static charge I told you about actually could have really been dangerous to the whole system. The Mark-8 computer has to monitor the entire electrical state of the environment around it. It could have theoretically even caused a meltdown. You should have told me." Luke looked a little angry, but he was still smiling.

Marshall walked right into it again. "No Einstein. I didn't take a chance. I had it verified before I let you put that nano stuff on the boat. Why do you think I wouldn't let you wire into the power grid?"

"Really? Wow! You had it verified... By whom?" The sarcasm was overflowing, but Luke never stopped smiling. It was beginning to creep Marshall out.

"By people who can answer technical AND classified questions. That's who. I could tell you... but then I'd have to kill you." Now he grinned back at his Nephew.

Luke started nodding his head but kept looking Marshall in the eyes.

"That would be a DOD document with the routing number of 7581-52-440 and the title of, 'Request for Specification Compatibility - Nuclear Hardware and Systems document ID 65223,' which was submitted approximately nine-and-a-half months ago... give or take a few days... I'm guessing." Luke was about to keep going, but he saw that he'd hit his mark. He stopped talking but kept smiling.

Marshall was dumbfounded.

There was enough of what Luke had just quoted that Marshall could remember was actually on the paperwork for the nano-shield upgrade to convince him his Nephew knew of the existence of the documents. He stumbled out his response.

"How... how do you know that information?"

"I could tell you... but then I'd have to kill you."

Marshall cracked up when he heard this. He tried unsuccessfully to recompose himself and chuckled out loud, again. After another few moments, he managed to calm his funny bone. He barely held the giggles at bay when he finally looked at Luke.

"Spill it, smart ass. I'll take my chances."

"I invented the shit. Who do you think THEY asked? Huh, smart ass?"

Then Luke got that special grin on his face, again.

Marshall started laughing, again. He had no other choice. His nephew always seemed to be one step ahead. That was gonna stop, real soon. Marshall intended to make sure of it. But for now, Marshall just kept laughing. Luke kept talking.

"Although, I was never told of the actual vessel. I assumed it was some new attack boat. My calculations and my ultimate answer could have been adjusted had I known of the final hull configuration and material. In fact, now that I know the actual boat we're talking about, I'm sure I could've increased the plating over the living sections. And then you wouldn't have a twenty minute 'egg-timer on your balls,' as you put it."

Luke spread his hands apart for a second and gave Marshall that 'oh well' shrug. Then he grabbed his crotch with both hands and smiled. Marshall finally walked past Luke toward the infirmary. He was still chuckling as he yelled back to him.

"You and me are gonna have to work on our communication."

"Now you're starting to sound like my ex-wife," snapped Luke.

Marshall just grunted, but he kept on walking.

"Uh uh. Don't compare me to that bitch. Now come upstairs and help me get these kids back down here in this oxygen. And stop nosing around my fishing boat. Didn't you know, curiosity killed the kitty cat?" He reached the end of the hall and looked back.

Luke jumped over the bulkhead in the doorway and started after him. "This is no fishing boat," he said mostly to himself as he jogged up the hallway after his uncle. "And I got your kitty cat RIGHT HERE."

The last part was said loud enough for his uncle to hear. But Marshall had already turned to go up the stairs to the infirmary. It was a good thing, too. He would have been required to return the Secret-Sign-of-the-Gentryhood that Luke pointed in his direction.

Just before he reached the staircase, Luke could hear Marshall on the landing upstairs as he called back down to him.

"I saw that..."

Luke shook his head and smiled as he rounded the corner and headed up one flight. Marshall was already gone when he looked up.

_'That man can move like a ghost, when he wants to,'_ thought Luke, as he took the stairs three at a time.
Chapter 16

TIME REMAINING: 12 YEARS

LOCATION:

UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI, FLORIDA, USA

DATE: OCTOBER 2, 2000 AD – 8:01 AM

• • • • •

Marissé learned early on in her life just how beautiful she was. Starting at age eleven, she had to push boys away from her. Starting at age twelve, she had to kick boys away from her. Starting at age thirteen, she had to run as fast as possible to stay away from the boys that were chasing her. Boys who wanted to get her, and marry her, and take her away, and hide her from everyone else, and keep her as their sole and only treasure to cherish and hoard from the rest of the world.

Marissé was a beautiful girl who turned into a stunningly gorgeous young woman. But no matter how beautiful or gorgeous the boys told her that she was, she had utterly no use whatsoever for anyone of the opposite gender. She didn't have much use for anyone of the same gender, either. Marissé was equally fond of no one.

When she was fourteen years old, she was cursed and blessed all at the same time. Her father was killed. After that, her mother took her and moved to the United States to be with family in Miami. This probably saved Marissé from a fate of ending up married to someone who lived in the peninsula of the Yucatan where she was born. Someone who would likely have had Marissé barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen for most of her twenties, and perhaps half of her thirties; if she lived that long.

Instead, she had to adjust to a whole new life. She was no longer around her beloved jungle that contained her secret and wondrous connection to her people and her past from so long ago. She traded all that in for a teenager's life in the poor suburbs of Miami. Which wasn't all that better considering the animals in the jungle, as opposed to the animals in the city slum streets of Miami.

Marissé had to try even harder to keep the boys away from her in Miami. But she did.

Eventually, she got to the point where it just became easier to physically defend herself from boys. She began to study Tae-Kwon-Do and became proficient rather quickly. It was a skill set she had to use on more than one occasion to teach boys the proper way to respect young girls they didn't know. This brash behavior coming from such a beautiful babe eventually earned her the respect of many of the tough hombres in her neighborhood. By the time she was sixteen, Marissé found she didn't have to defend herself any more. That duty had been taken over by dozens of adopted older brothers, whose self-professed job was to protect their young and innocent little sister from the harm of anyone who even looked at her sideways.

By the time she graduated high school, all of the boys knew who she was. The only phase in her life that had not been dedicated directly toward academic pursuits was her junior and senior year of high school. She spent those two years in the dance clubs of South Beach with all of her high school hombres and gang-member buddies dancing all night long. She still managed to make it to school. And she still managed to hold a perfect grade point average.

But the nightlife in Miami was no stranger to Marissé.

The smoke, drugs, and alcohol had no attraction to her. The only thing she went for was dancing. And it didn't matter who it was on the dance floor. Whether some Latin American Pop Teen Star or just some hot guy looking to get laid, Marissé didn't care. She danced with all of them. However, she never did anything more than suggestively dance with any of them; unless you count smooching.

Marissé was a smoocher. She liked to kiss, and kissing was all she ever did. But she was talented at it. All the boys in the clubs eventually learned this beautiful girl would dance with them and perhaps even smooch with them. But that was all she would do. And if they persisted in any sort of request beyond dancing, they quickly found themselves surrounded by angry men. These men would promptly escort this person out of whatever club they were in and roughly toss them into the street; along with various curses, in various languages, regarding their adopted baby sister, Marissé. And they usually added something colorful that had to do with the parentage of the person being tossed out on their butt.

Even the club owners would look out for their little señorita.

If it had been Hollywood, Marissé would have found herself in the middle of a tabloid scandal. She was only seventeen years old when she was out late one night during the week on the South Beach strip. She was at one of the hot dance clubs when an un-named Hollywood A-List celebrity came into the club with his entourage. He had been visiting Madonna, or Stallone, or someone else who had a mansion in or around the international metropolitan society of Miami. He immediately spotted Marissé on the dance floor, and he sent one of his bodyguards to invite her to the VIP area, which had been roped off for his group. She declined. Then she turned around and continued dancing by herself.

The Hollywood asshole thought this only made her more attractive. So he decided he would make the move himself. He got up and walked onto the dance floor then started trying to shake his booty. He couldn't dance for shit. But he started bouncing a little as he approached the underage girl then boogied around in front of her. She had been turned away from his VIP section and didn't see him approach her. When he got around and made eye-contact, he introduced himself.

Marissé just looked at him.

He smiled and pushed on. "Don't you know who I am? Do you speak English?" He tried to put on his best Hollywood charm.

Marissé started to answer him. "Should I—"

He interrupted her.

"Well, I am famous." He smiled at her again and kept trying to bounce to the music.

Marissé smiled before she began. "You didn't let me finish. I was going to say, Should I care? It was only going to be a rhetorical question. Which means I didn't expect you to respond. What I do expect, is for you to quietly turn and walk back over to your little corner. I am NOT the one, not tonight."

Then she looked him up and down for the first time. She had been staring intently at his right eye, like she did when she target-practiced with her uncle's handgun at the gun range. She was getting proficient at shooting. She knew how to handle a gun. But she still needed some practice on how to handle celebrities; like the asshole that was standing in front of her. He suddenly stepped up close and stared down at her. Marissé didn't blink as she looked up at him and stared right back. She spoke first.

"Now that I see you up close, I can assure you, I will never be the one. Comprendé amigo? Now would you please get out of my way so I can continue to dance with the only person in arms reach of me who actually knows how to dance, and that would be me." Then she smiled.

He didn't react well.

"Why you little Cuban piece of sh—"

He started to grab her arm. That turned out to be a gigantic mistake.

Those six-and-a-half words were all he got out. Actually, they would be the last words he spoke for a week. Marissé stepped forward and used her closed fist to swing her arm up sideways and clotheslined him directly in his throat. She stopped right before his larynx crushed. She had practiced this in real life. She knew exactly how hard to warn; how hard to maim; and how hard to eliminate any type of threat to her person, from anyone.

"I'm not Cuban... And YOU don't get to touch me."

When the asshole A-Lister hit the floor with his hands at his neck, his three body guards jumped up and started for the girl. Marissé didn't flinch. She turned toward them and spread her legs in a bent-knee stance in her short mini skirt. She wore tights underneath just for this reason. She could put her foot in your face without leaning back. And depending on whether you were dancing with her, or about to have your dental work readjusted by her, she could pull her leg back down away from your face without flinching, either. And she could do all of that in three-and-a-half-inch stiletto heels, but it was easier without them. She was about to kick off her heels when she suddenly saw movement out of the corner of her eye, lots of movement. Marissé relaxed and stood back up. The ignorant bodyguards didn't detect the change in her posture in time. They kept charging toward the dance floor where their boss was writhing in pain on the ground. All of the other dancers had moved farther away, and a corridor had opened up in front of the bodyguards that led right to the two people they were running for.

They never got within ten feet.

Two groups of gang members at the club reacted as soon as they saw the crowd disperse from the middle of the dance floor. They charged toward the front of the corridor of spectators on the dance floor before the bodyguards could see them coming. The Hollywood security crew was now outnumbered five to one. The first bodyguard never took his eyes off Marissé as he sprinted toward her. He should have. Because he never saw the punch that broke his nose and blackened his eyes for weeks. He just collapsed backwards, like he had run into a glass wall. The other two bodyguards took all of twenty-two seconds before they joined their comrade and their boss on the floor. Their boss was the only one of them who was still conscious. In his nightmares, this A-List asshole wishes he had been unconscious at the hands of the beautiful smart-mouthed dancer. Because what happened to him next in the back alley would land him in the hospital for a while. The last punch was by the club owner.

The Star's publicist told the press he'd been in an automobile accident. The bodyguards all backed up that story. But right before he punched his lights out, the club owner told the asshole A-Lister if he ever showed up in his club again, he would release the security video showing him getting his ass kicked by a girl. And then he'd hire the same gang to kick his ass again, personally.

The Hollywood A-Lister would never return to Miami, ever.

Marissé had managed to make friends in Miami.

Marissé had also managed to stay innocent. Marissé had managed not to get married, or pregnant, or hidden away by some greedy man wanting to hoard her beauty. Marissé had also managed to get a high school degree and a scholarship to the University of Miami. When she entered the University as a Freshman, she knew immediately what she would do, and what she would study, and what degree she would have when she left this remarkable place of knowledge that she had now entered.

What she did not know, was how to get along with all of the spoiled rotten American jerks that surrounded her in this brand new University life-experience. The full scholarship she earned included a paid dorm room. Even though her mother still lived in the city, and even though she could have found a way to take public transportation to and from class, both her and her mother decided the smartest thing for her to do, would be to live in the dorm. That way, no distractions from home or the old neighborhood would interfere with her studies. However, neither of them considered what it would be like to find a roommate. And not just any roommate; a roommate that would be capable of tolerating Marissé.

But more importantly, a roommate that Marissé would not kill.

Marissé's flair for personal temper and her well known abilities to defend herself quickly became the source of legend among the Freshman Coed Dorm. Her roommates for the first two months of the semester flowed in and out of her room like a breeze from the Atlantic. It was actually quite humorous. There were two weeks where the number of days in the week equaled the number of roommates she went through. The Dormitory Monitors didn't have a clue what was happening. No one who wanted out of the room would say anything other than they had to leave, and they had to leave, now.

And that's all they said.

Those exact words had been given to those young girls, verbatim, by Marissé; along with their marching orders and their luggage. Which was usually tossed out in the hall prior to the rejected roommate actually being tossed out. The last part of the message of farewell that Marissé gave to each of her ex-roommates, was never to speak about this, ever, to anyone. Everyone just pretended it was mutually agreeable they all wanted to have new roommates.

Unfortunately, after two months of this, there were not any more roommates to be had. Marissé had to spend one entire night alone in her half of the two-bedroom apartment-type suite, which she had been sharing with an ongoing stream of new freshmen girls.

But that one night was all she had to spend alone in her suite. Because the next day, she was awakened by an envelope being taped on her door. When she retrieved the notice, she learned she would be getting a new roommate that same day. Marissé also discovered this would be the last roommate she would ever get. The note informed her the Dean of Housing told the Dorm Monitor to pass along this message: if Marissé couldn't get along with this roommate, Marissé would not be welcome in student housing on campus.

Marissé didn't honestly care. But she was curious what the new roommate would be like. She hadn't heard anything when she woke up, except the delivery of the note. But she hadn't checked the rest of the dorm room. The bedroom doors were on opposite sides of a combined living room and desk study area. On the back wall, was a door into the shared bathroom. The bedrooms each had a smaller door that opened into the bathroom, which had two sinks on each side of the front door into the common area. A shower stall with a solid door was across from the sink on one side, and the toilet was behind a door next to the shower. The bathroom made a hallway that went between the two bedrooms if both small doors were open. Marissé usually brushed her teeth as soon as her feet hit the floor. But this morning, she went to the front door when she heard someone outside taping something to it.

Just then, she heard water running in the bathroom sink.

Apparently, her new roomie was already here. Marissé decided now was as good a time as any to meet the new roommate. She walked over to the bathroom entrance from the living area and pulled open the door expecting to find her new female roommate.

What she found was a skinny, pale young man in his underwear flossing his teeth in front of the mirror. Marissé dropped her pretend smile. This was not good.

"Who the hell are you?"

She was suddenly sure this new roommate would be gone soon. Nobody had the gall to bring a boyfriend into the dorm on the first day, not yet anyway. As Marissé was standing there, the boyfriend finished flossing his teeth and then rinsed with a strange cup that was suddenly beside the sink. For a second, Marissé imagined kissing the flossing bean-pole white boy, but then she shivered at the thought. The first thing she intended to do was tell his girlfriend and soon-to-be ex-roommate about how her gross boyfriend used her cup and her floss—

He interrupted her thought.

"I'm your new roommate, Jay-L." He had just spit out his mouth and wiped his hand, which he now extended toward a suddenly speechless Marissé.

"My... what?" That was all she could get out. Her tongue wasn't cooperating with her.

Jay-L dropped his hand and turned away toward his room. He took off into it while he talked to her.

"Look, I know English may be your second language, but really. You and I have the same reputation." He turned around and showed her his copy of the letter regarding the same ultimatum to get along with this, his last roommate. "See, it appears you and I have the same problem, as well. We either get along, or we don't live on campus."

Marissé had instinctively followed him into his bedroom. It didn't matter that he was in his underwear and tube socks. But when she got into the room, she stopped and was even more amazed than she had been over the last thirty seconds. And not because Jay-L was in his underwear and socks. Nor was it because she had a new boy roommate, who was gross.

It was because she suddenly realized they were going to be stuck with each other unless she was willing to leave. Because as she looked around his room, she knew the short-haired geek across from her would never leave. And that was because the room was wall-to-wall computers and monitors. The only clear spot was a narrow walkway in front of his bed. The bed itself was covered with a large overhanging shelf, which contained more computers. It looked like he slept underneath the computer complex. Marissé couldn't help herself as she quickly wondered if he turned off all of the equipment before he slept, or if he slept at all for that matter. There were coffee cups and pizza boxes everywhere. She couldn't figure out how he could have gotten all this stuff in here, much less without waking her up. She had to think hard to make sure she hadn't been drugged and missed a day. Marissé walked up to Jay-L and looked him in the eye.

"What day is it?" That was all she said.

"Tuesday..." he answered after a moment.

Suddenly, Jay-L got a worried look on his face. As he stared at Marissé, his mind began to race with thoughts. His eyes got a far off look as he mentally ran down a tangent, and he was suddenly lost in a daydream. When he did this, his eyes subconsciously drifted down a few inches and stopped on Marissé's chest.

"Hummm. I'd not actually counted on the possibility this new roommate might be crazy. I just knew she was a woman. I wonder if there might be a connection between the two states of existence? You know... woman and crazy? Hummmmm... I should look into that, sometime. Anyway, maybe later. Now back to the dark-haired new roomie and... Whoa... Hello hooties! Wow, this girl is actually quite hot. And she's in a very loose tank top. Suddenly I'm thinking I could live with a little bit of crazy for a peek at those honkers."

Jay-L had to try hard to look up from her cleavage. When he did, he found Marissé looking straight at him. The last thing he remembered seeing was her smiling at him.

He didn't realize he just said that entire thought out loud.

Everything from the crazy roommate part to the honkers.

And fortunately for him, he also didn't remember when his brain blocked out the next instant as Marissé punched him in the jaw and knocked him out cold.
Chapter 17

T-MINUS: 45 HOURS 01 MINUTES

LOCATION:

MAYAN ARCHEOLOGICAL DIG, YUCATAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 3:07 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 21:07 GMT

• • • • •

Marissé was getting tired of leaving her callback number.

This number was supposed to get him, not some answering service.

When she did see him again, she was gonna remind him of a few things.

Marissé was working on becoming a tenured professor at Mexico University. Almost four years ago, she went to give a presentation at her Alma Mater, the University of Miami. While she was there, she ran into her old dormitory roommate. Actually they had been roommates for all of Marissé's time at the University. After they had spent three years in the dorm together, they shared an apartment near campus for the final two years that Marissé needed to finish her PhD in Archeology. She got her PhD at the same ceremony that Jay-L finally got his bachelors degree in general studies. He wouldn't have gotten it without Marissé's help.

When she met up with him after her presentation, he was still hanging around the campus, although in a totally new capacity. She'd read some of the articles and tried to follow the news stories. She knew that he had several Honorary Doctorates now, which always made her smile. "It was the only way you ever would have gotten one," she told him while laughing out loud after he sheepishly informed her his PhD status. She also knew he had more than five of them, now. Somehow, she always found out when something great happened to Jay-L. She also knew Johnston Lionel Farnsworth III better than anyone else; even better than his Mom, who was his only living relative.

Suddenly, a woman's voice came over the satellite telephone receiver against Marissé's ear.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Sanchez. Doctor Farnsworth is not available at the moment. If you'd like to leave another message..." The woman on the other end was hoping that Marissé would say no this time, unlike the last twelve times she called in the past half hour.

Marissé obliged her.

"No. I'll just wait for his call back. Thank you again, Margaret." Marissé had asked for the woman's name the first time she left a message. She knew it was better to be courteous to people you left messages with.

Marissé canceled the call on the receiver and looked up. She was standing on the top of the pyramid. She didn't have to do that to get reception. She just liked to do it. It was a satellite phone. They were mostly immune to the interference that had started to plague cell phones and some landline networks from the increased sunspot activity and solar storms lately, like the one just a few hours ago. The sat-phone only had a problem from traffic, especially after one of those storms like today.

As she looked at the phone, she thought to herself, _'Not one call for four weeks and I just made thirteen calls, today... God, I can't wait to see the bill.'_ But she quickly remembered she'd actually tried to call Jay-L over sixty times in the past thirty minutes. Most of the calls never made it through because of high volume on all the networks. _'I'll have to develop a Plan-B if I can't reach him. But for now —'_

She interrupted her own thought.

"I'll wait for him to call back," she said out loud as she walked to the edge of the flat pyramid top.

This pyramid wasn't like the ones in Egypt. Instead of having a pointed apex, this one was was flat and wide at the peak, with a smooth stone surface that went from edge to edge on all four sides. The top surface was as big as a large room, just with no walls. Weeks ago, she had cleared the path up here through the overgrown vegetation covering the sides. The rest of the pyramid blended right into the actual jungle canopy and looked like a mountain peak with a flat-top haircut.

Only the plaza between the two pyramids was fully cleared. It took almost a year to do it. As she turned a complete circle and surveyed the canopy, she could just make out the four raised gravel roads which led out of the complex like the cardinal directions on a gigantic compass. The roads were almost perfectly aligned with the magnetic directions during the time when they were built. The strange roads had been covered over by centuries of growth. But when cleared, the overgrowth revealed amazingly flat and straight gravel roads. Although Marissé was able to determine the period of time when they were constructed, she had no idea why the roads were built. But they were made to last.

Marissé walked over to the other edge of the stone pyramid top and looked out over the jungle. Then she looked down at the smooth rock surface under her feet again. The stone top was almost perfectly square and flat. Even after settling over the millennia, this stone platform was still flat and level. That was also a mystery. The exterior of the pyramid had obviously settled and been overgrown during the time since the first stone was laid in this man-made mountain. But the center section had remained unchanged. There were parts of the sides where the exterior walls had subsided down slightly away from the massive four-sided central column of stone. Marissé was now standing on top of that column.

She had no way of knowing, but the central substructure she was standing on was a solid stone frame and truss system that went to the very bottom of the ancient pyramid. She also had no way of knowing this stone was poured, not quarried. Using an ancient, natural concrete recipe that didn't require the lime used today, the Meso-American cultures who started this pyramid poured the foundation over 10,000 years ago. Each culture that added to the man-made mountain slowly created a solid stone structure that went from under Marissé's feet all the way into the bedrock several hundred feet below.

_'Maybe it had a temple structure on it at one time,'_ she thought as she looked around the stone square.

Just then, the satellite phone she was absentmindedly holding in her hand began to ring.

"Well, it's about damn time," she blurted out to herself. Then she pressed the talk button on the satellite phone for the sixty-seventh time that day. She already knew the hell she was going to catch over the bill when she had to go back to Mexico University next month. She almost yelled at the receiver.

"This is Doctor Sanchez."

Nothing on the other end.

She tried again.

"Hello?"

There was a slight buzzing on the line then a woman's voice.

"Hello Doctor Sanchez, this is Margaret, Doctor Farnsworth's personal assistant. We just spoke a minute ago?"

Marissé suddenly realized she'd been speaking to his assistant, not some lame answering service. _'Okay, I won't kill him when I see him,'_ she quickly thought to herself as Margaret kept going.

"I've finally reached him for you. He's on the other line. Hold while I transfer you... Okay?" Margaret wasn't sure if Marissé was still on the line.

"Yes, Thank you Margaret... I'll hold."

Then Marissé heard jazz music start playing on the line. Jay-L always liked jazz. Suddenly, the line got extremely noisy, like at an airport outside on the tarmac next to a jet engine.

She was close in her guess. Jay-L was jumping out of his corporate jet helicopter. He was wearing a wireless Bluetooth headset and was walking out of the rotor wash. When he cleared the blades, the helicopter revved its engines and took off quickly. The sound began to fade, then Jay-L came on the line.

"Marissé... Margaret said you've been trying to reach me. Sorry about that. I was out of the office this morning... Can you hold on for a second?"

Marissé didn't want to, but she agreed. Then she heard some noise and movement in the background. She could barely make out Jay-L talking. But he was not talking to her.

"Is this thing on?"

Someone else answered in the background, "Yes, Sir."

Suddenly, Marissé could hear Jay-L clearly because he began yelling through a powered megaphone.

"Attention Royal Guards... This is your King. Tell President Smitt and his band of Barney Fife University rent-a-cops that if he crosses that forty foot moat, I'll have him arrested and charged with spying. Then I'll have him hung by Royal Executive orders from... just a minute—"

Jay-L started looking for an appropriate hangman's yardarm for Royal execution hangings. He settled on one, then pointed to a large oak tree in the middle of the golf course turned Research Park. Then he shouted into the megaphone, again.

"That large tree... over there." Then he had an afterthought, "And tell Dr. Smitt I will be at the grand opening ceremony tonight at 9:00 PM sharp. Tell him not to be late... and tell him to bring his lovely wife Martha, too. I miss talking to her."

Across the large, empty lot in front of the entry drive onto university property was a line of brightly colored guards for the Palace Research Park, the name of the quickly growing technology mecca. The twelve men stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder with drawn swords held across their chest. In front of them across a shallow ditch, was an older thin man, the University of Miami President, John Smitt. The Miami sun was still bright and hot in December, and the University President was stewing in his three-piece custom tailored suit. But not because of the bright sun that was on the same equatorial parallel as Mexico. And not because he couldn't hear Johnston Lionel Farnsworth III, the current and long-standing bane of this man's existence, at least as far as President Smitt was concerned.

The leader of the private security guards hired to protect the property started to repeat the instructions given to him by his boss.

"Sir, do not attempt to cross the moat—"

The President of the University snapped at the brightly colored Guard.

"I can hear him just fine."

Then he yelled past the line of guards toward Jay-L.

"Mr. Farnsworth, I am over this nonsense, and I'm not going to stand for it any longer. You and I are going to settle this right now."

The President started walking toward the shallow hill made of black concrete with sparkles in it. He didn't notice the solid stone sentry columns that sat every ten meters around the perimeter of the Research Park and on both sides of the entryway.

But they noticed him.

The spherical top of the two sentry columns that were flanking the area the angry University President was approaching swung silently toward their prey. They had long since locked onto the moving target with military grade tracking systems. As the President crossed the bright yellow line that was painted on the street where the University property abutted the former Golf Community, the high-power lasers in the sentry heads fired a silent and invisible set of beams across the path directly in front of the administrator of the adjacent college.

President John Smitt heard the sound and stopped walking just before his foot crossed the painted red line and touched the surface of the black sparkly material. The high-energy laser beams hit a few feet away from him on the beginning of the shallow hill made of special energy absorbing concrete. It was actually the purpose of the high-tech moat which now surrounded the entire perimeter of the once beautiful and exclusive country-club golf course. The lasers made a loud crackling noise as the nano-material absorbed the coherent light energy and redirected it as static electrical charge. As a thin cloud of smoke began to form above the sparks shooting out of the concrete, the normally invisible lasers formed a perfect X a short distance in front of the wide-eyed President's feet. The ground for thirty feet in all directions away from the twin laser impact zone was now electrified with enough static charge to disable the entire Miami Police Force.

But Jay-L's property wasn't actually in Miami. It was next to the University, which is in a Miami suburb called, Coral Gables. But Jay-L's Research Park wasn't in Coral Gables, either. The property that now belonged to Jay-L wasn't even in Florida for that matter; not legally. Jay-L's Research Park was essentially its own little country inside the borders of the state of Florida. Shortly after Jay-L struck it rich, he purchased the historic Biltmore Hotel and the attached golf course with its country club. Then he bought the golf course to the south of the Biltmore Hotel; the one that butted up against the University of Miami. Then he bought every single home that bordered the property on all sides.

He had plenty of money, and everyone has their price.

Then Jay-L arranged for the Governor and State Legislature to give him the same deal that the Seminole Indians and other tribes around the country have. They were independent nations within the border of the continental United States. And they could make their own laws on their land. And you had to abide by those laws when you were on their land, which was the same as being in their country. This is how Indian Reservations get to own and operate Casinos in states where gambling is not legal.

Jay-L had the same arrangement with Florida. And he'd hired the best legal firm in the state to make sure that it was not revocable. Two former Governors and about two dozen former State Legislators, three Congressional Representatives and both active U.S. Senators were involved in the workgroup for the project. And that was just at the beginning. The group grew drastically as the idea was floated around Tallahassee and then Washington.

People said he could never do it.

But it happened. Just like Jay-L knew it would. He knew how these things worked. It was like playing chess, which he was extremely talented at. Jay-L knew when to move a piece and when to leave a piece alone. He knew when to sacrifice a piece and which piece of his opponent's to leave on the board.

He also had an instinct for knowing when and how to eliminate anything he decided was interfering with his single-minded goal of beating his opponent. Jay-L was to the business world what a young Tiger Woods was to the golf world. It was a high-tech, high-power, high-stakes, high-finance and head-of-state business world that Jay-L now played and worked in every day.

Real-life chess, as he liked to call it.

And in the spirit of the chess game of life, Jay-L had jokingly elected himself King of his new tiny nation. Then he hired guards and started building and building.

Meanwhile, the erstwhile enemy of Jay-L, the President of the University of Miami, was no longer a threat of any sort to Jay-L. Honestly, he never was. Jay-L manipulated him almost at will, like right now. Jay-L orchestrated this moment when he told his helicopter pilot to hover over one of the Farnsworth buildings on the main campus and stay there until the campus Police showed up. He knew the President would lead the charge. Jay-L had played this series of chess moves many times in his head. And it was working. Jay-L saw the President jump backward as the lasers shot fire into the air about three feet in front of his four-hundred dollar shoes.

Jay-L was waiting for this moment. He was laughing out loud when he keyed the megaphone again.

"Don't make me call the Governor, again, Dr. Smitt. Just go back to your little office and wait until tonight. Then I'll program the laser sentries to let you on the property. Until then, remember my little oak tree over there."

Then he lowered the megaphone and looked at the President, who was too far away for him to hear. From what Jay-L could tell by the tantrum dance the University President was doing right now, he was still not ready to admit defeat. Jay-L decided he should add something, and he thought for a moment. Then he keyed the megaphone again.

"And don't look at me that way. It's my helicopter, and the top floor of that building on your campus over there is mine, too. The DOD and DARPA gave it to me no strings attached. Remember? If I want to fly over it, I can. I had the FAA send you that letter explaining my rights. I know you received it. I had it sent certified. Now get over it."

Then Jay-L turned and walked off. He handed the megaphone to his limo driver and walked into the building in front of him. Finally, he started to talk to Marissé again, who had been on the line the whole time. She started to hang up, but she got interested in the background drama. Jay-L cleared his throat as he entered the air-conditioned building through the unlocked front door.

"Marissé. Sorry about that, again. Domestic security problems, you know. You just can't trust your neighbors any more. At least that's what I keep telling the Governor about our mutual friend, President John Smitt."

"That's who I thought you were yelling at. What the hell was that all about?"

Jay-L started to answer, but she interrupted him.

"Never mind, I don't have time. I've already spent a fortune of my field budget on this damn satellite phone today trying to reach you. Anyway, I've got a problem, and I need you to solve it."

"Just like old times, straight to the point and no bullshit. That's what I like about you, Marissé."

Jay-L had quickly walked through the building and reached the console of a large computer terminal in the back of his enormous lab. He sat down at an overstuffed chair in front of the massive bank of monitors. They sprang to life as soon as his butt hit the seat. He started typing as he continued talking with Marissé.

"And don't worry about the satellite bill."

He tapped a few more keys on the panel in front of his chair. The billing information for Marissé's satellite phone popped up. Jay-L's computer was linked into his cell phone. The number she called from was highlighted above the information regarding the billing for the sat-phone. At the bottom of the page, was the outstanding balance of a few thousand dollars. He typed in a few more strokes and the balance owed in the bottom of the billing screen jumped to a positive $50,000 credit.

"I just paid this bill and put fifty grand in your satellite account. So lets chat and catch up, okay? You're one of the few people I'll talk to on the phone. Let me enjoy this."

"How the hell did you put money in my account? This phone is registered under the University in Mexico City."

"Easy... Caller-ID and a few friends in high places. Besides, no one's account turns down getting money."

He was smiling to himself as he clicked Yes to the onscreen prompt to 'Locate Satellite Signal and Engage Image Assets?' When he did, he initiated a string of events containing almost a trillion quantum micro-instructions spread over the entire set of global networks. Every computer on the planet that was actively connected to the internet, or any other network for that matter, instantly began to unknowingly parse single micro-bits of code distributed by quantum modulation fluctuation on both the electrical and electronic pulse signals. Suddenly, the satellite control systems of four large corporations and six military spy satellites were queried in such a fast manner, the security protocols did not recognize or register the entry.

Once decisions were made regarding the feedback of the queries, which happened in nano-seconds, the return set of instructions was parsed over the world and hyper-rammed back into the systems in question, in a shorter time span than an electrical spike in the gigahertz range.

Three satellites in range and position were identified, and their monitor control systems were then bombarded with internal command-line requests for diagnostics. The systems started checking themselves and notifying ground stations of a temporary delay in response. All the ground stations thought this was normal, especially after a solar storm like today. As the systems were auto forwarded into non-monitored guidance for the duration of the diagnostics, the lens array on each of the satellites secretly swung toward the Yucatan. Image sensors ramped up the couple-charge that would send the super-resolution data stream back down the diagnostic carrier wave. But the data would travel via a transcoded background static signal that was below the threshold of the sensitive receivers on the ground.

From there, the data stream static pulsed across the backbone of the major networks on the North American continent. The signal traveled almost at the speed of light across the fast sections of the fiber-optic spinal column of the North American data grid.

Then, all the unobservable and undetectable data stream nano-pulses came together at one location.

The main monitor in front of Jay-L snapped an orbital view of the planet onscreen. It began to rapidly zoom into the Yucatan peninsula.

It is almost impossible for anyone, in any agency, to swing satellites immediately into a random area of the globe. Even the Department of Defense birds, which are the most advanced spy satellites in the skies, have to be pre-positioned in the general area of interest before the orbital assets can image something.

Jay-L was able to get around this restriction in a unique way.

And the computer in front of him was the reason why. In fact, his computer was so powerful there was only one other computer like it in the world, the little sister of this machine which was now in classified residence at the NSA. His computer was the reason Jay-L was able to do any of the things that he regularly did now, like play golf with Presidents of countries; not University Presidents like the one he just left outside before talking to Marissé, who suddenly spoke and snapped him back to the present.

"I don't believe you." Marissé was not an idiot. "You didn't put money in my account, did you?" But she also knew how Jay-L could be when it came to spending money.

"Oh, trust me, girl. The money's there. You can take that to the bank... Hah." He snorted a little as he laughed at his own unintentional joke.

Marissé didn't know what to say. Fifty-thousand dollars was almost two-and-a-half months of her field budget. She'd have to find a way to get that money out of the satellite phone and into her pyramid. But not right now. Right now, she needed to get Jay-L to listen and stop spending money. She had read enough of the gossip columns to know that might not be easy with the new Jay-L. This Jay-L was rich. He was something like the thirteenth wealthiest man on the planet, now.

But that didn't matter to Marissé.

"Jay-L, shut the fuck up. I need to ask you a question. And I don't have time for any of your mind games about your fortune, or your friends, or that silly pig snort of a laugh you still have. Comprendé mi amigo?"

She tried hard not to, but she cracked up laughing after she heard herself say this out loud.

So did Jay-L.

He stopped taking her insults seriously a long time ago. At least, she was straight with him.

"That's my girl. I was wondering if you'd mellowed over the years. Obviously not. You now have my undivided attention. What may I do for you, my long lost roommate?"

As he was talking to her, the satellite image zoomed into Marissé talking on the satellite phone to Jay-L. The shot was nearly overhead, and he could see her clearly. She was standing on a stone surface and had her University of Miami baseball cap on. She was still wearing the same sweaty tank top and her hiking shorts with boots. She was walking in circles but suddenly stopped.

"First, I'm not that long. I'm the same age as you. And I'm not lost. I saw you a few years ago. Second, I just told you... I need your help."

This actually got Jay-L's attention. Marissé had not asked for help. She told Jay-L she needed him to solve a problem she had. The subtle difference was not lost on Jay-L.

"You've never asked for help on anything or from anybody. This is serious, isn't it?"

"Not serious, but I think it could be important. To more people than just me, too."

While Jay-L was listening, another satellite view popped onto the screen to the left of the central monitor. This satellite had an oblique angle of the same shot as it zoomed into the Yucatan and Marissé's sat-phone signal. He could see her face from this perspective. The image continued to zoom in until Marissé's face filled the giant screen. Jay-L touched the panel in front of him, and the shot of her face switched onto the main screen while the overhead shot slid onto a side monitor. There was a slight delay between when he heard her voice over the sat-phone and when he saw her lips move on screen, but only slight. She reached up and pulled off her University of Miami baseball cap while she talked. Her long raven hair flowed down her shoulders.

"I found this glass artifact, sorta like a plaque. It has writing and glyphs on it..." She thought for a second, then continued. "And what looks like cuneiform..." She paused to see if Jay-L would give her the response that anyone else in the Archeology or Ancient Language field would give her. But he didn't. So she went on.

"I recognize some of them, but most of it's a mystery. I remember you telling me about that machine of yours and that cryptography stuff you invented. You said you could decipher unknowns from a pool of common knowns that had logical connections... if the sample was large enough... right?"

"Wow... You never cease to amaze me. I teach classes on this now, and most people can't remember that concept two minutes after I tell it to them. Bravo, my _Wonder Twin."_

This made Marissé smile. Jay-L saw it on two separate satellite images; one from her left and one from her upper right that had just popped into view. The two oblique shots were now side-by-side and cropped around Marissé on the main screen. She kept smiling but tried to sound serious. The _Wonder Twin_ comment brought back a flood of memories. Almost all of them were good.

"This is really important to me, Jay-L. I need you to see if you can translate the stuff on this artifact. This could be the most important archeological discovery ever made in the Americas. That's not exaggerating either. If we can translate it, this could be the most important Archeology find ever."

Jay-L could see her squirming. He knew asking for help was hard for her. Unlike anyone else on the planet, Jay-L would not make her beg.

"Done."

"What?"

"Yes."

"But... I... You..." Marissé was as close to speechless as she ever got.

Jay-L wasn't.

"Okay, you've convinced me. I'll do it. As a matter of fact, I'll do it today. I'll send a plane for you, and you can bring it back to Miami with you."

He could see her face as her jaw dropped. The delay didn't alter the effect, which was what he was going for. She started to prepare a rebuttal. He could see her doing it on the satellites. And he was expecting it because he planned for it. But he had to let her make the rebuttal, first.

"But, can't I just send you a photo? I have a digital camera and computer."

"Nope. Gotta have it here. Photo won't do. Didn't you say it was glass? Is it clear or colored?"

It didn't really matter. He was just distracting her.

"It's clear, actually transparent. But look Jay-L, I can't just up and leave. I have a crew. This is their job. I have an assistant, too. I can't just abandon him while I run off to Miami. Which, by the way, could take weeks. I have to tell the University, and I'll have to arrange paperwork to get this thing through customs for both out of Mexico and into the States. I know how that can be. I did it with other artifacts when I saw you last time in Miami. Are you sure I can't just send you an image?"

"Nope. Gotta use my scanning laser. Only way it'll work. And don't fret about customs. I keep one of my yachts at Cancún. I'll have the Captain send out the helicopter to pick you up."

Marissé could hear Jay-L type in the background as she continued to stare out over the jungle top from her pyramid. The sun was beating down, again, and she suddenly felt a strange, warm flush run over her. She walked over to the edge and sat down. The satellite images followed her down to her stationary spot.

Jay-L watched her sit down as he continued to talk and type on the virtual keyboard panel.

"It's only an hour or so to where you are. I'll have one of the jets waiting for you at... hold on..."

An aviation map of the Yucatan had popped up inside a window on the main screen. Jay-L only took a second.

"Got it. The nearest airport big enough to handle a Gulfstream is at Chichen Itza. The helicopter pilot will take you to the jet—"

Marissé interrupted him.

"What about my assistant and my crew? I can't just leave."

Jay-L was way ahead of her.

"What are your weekly expenses for labor including your assistant and you? Gross total? Matter of fact, include any expenses. Food, supplies, whatever? What is that number?" Then he paused for a second. "Tick-tock, tick-tock."

He knew just what buttons to push with her. Marissé snapped back at him.

"Why?"

He could see her in the satellite images. She was about to follow that question up with something like 'asshole,' but she thought better. Jay-L smiled before he continued.

"Because you can bring your assistant. I remember things, too. You introduced us the last time you were in town. And I remember he told me his family lived here. Tell him this is a gift for being your assistant. And if you tell me what your weekly expenses are, I'll let you give your crew a paid vacation. And as a bonus, I'll throw in enough money to hire extra crew to get you back on schedule. That's why, my dear."

Marissé let her jaw drop almost to the ground. It was just starting to sink in. Her old friend was offering to spend a fortune on her. Immediately. Just to see her. And to help her.

She started to turn around and walk back to the center of the pyramid, but Jay-L stopped her.

"Uh uh uhh. Don't turn around. Keep facing south."

Marissé stopped turning around. She turned back to the south and looked up.

"Are you spying on me, you asshole?"

_'There it is,'_ thought Jay-L to himself. _'My favorite nickname from her. It's been so long since anyone has called me that name. Except for that European model—'_ Then he remembered Marissé and snapped out of his mini-daydream.

"Yes, I'm spying on you... Of course, I am. This is me. What did you expect?"

She smiled up at the sky. All three satellite images showed her clearly now. She talked into the sat-phone and looked up at the sky.

"It pays to have friends in high places, right? Okay fine, send your helicopter and your jet. I'll come in town to see you. But you have to help me translate this thing, okay?"

"Wait, what about the number I asked for? I didn't forget about your crew. Did you?"

"No. I didn't forget. But I can't take a week off. And I can't take your money. Not any more than you've just given me."

"Now you're just being stubborn. I have plenty of money. Give me the number. Please."

"Fifty three hundred dollars, give or take." She knew exactly what her weekly expenses were down to the penny, but this was close enough.

Jay-L's jaw dropped when he heard her.

"That's it? That's all the money you have to operate on? For the entire week? That's nuts. I spent more than that last night on a bottle of wine. For Christ sakes Mahddy, why don't you have more money?"

"That's the realities of the field of Archeology. And thanks for pointing that out to me, again. It's not like I've forgotten how rich you are now, asshole."

Jay-L sometimes couldn't tell the difference between brutal effectiveness and just bullheaded brutality. He suddenly realized how fifty thousand dollars into the sat-phone account must have seemed, and what an enormous amount of money it must actually be for her. He normally wouldn't care. It's what he did. He pushed people around. He pushed companies around. He could push most countries around. He certainly could push around the State of Florida. Even the Federal Government pretty much did what he wanted, now. But right this moment, he didn't care about all of that. He didn't care that she called him by his favorite moniker. He was not going to push Marissé around. Even if he easily could.

"I'm sorry, Mahddy. Let me fly you and your glass artifact up, today. You can spend the night and be back tomorrow evening if you must. Give your men a day off on me, if nothing else. Okay? And tell Hassi he can come with you back to Miami, too. He should go see his Mom and Dad."

The last part got Marissé. Jay-L knew it would. He wasn't going to push Marissé, but he never said he wouldn't pressure her, or guilt her. That was his modus operandi.

It worked, of course. She sighed heavily as she felt another strange wave of dizziness roll over her. "Okay. Thank you, amigo." Then she looked up at the sky and blew a kiss toward him.

Jay-L saw it in all three satellite images. He hit a key and every screen in his wall of monitors switched to one of the three satellite views. And the wall of monitors was big. There were dozens of images of Marissé on the enormous wall of flatscreens.

And they all had a big happy smile.

So did Jay-L. He hit another key and sent an email message to the yacht Captain in Cancún as he watched the happy Marissé faces. He was truly happy to see her. And he would be even happier when he saw her face to face. Which he quickly calculated would be about two hours from now. Jay-L intended to be aboard the Gulfstream when it landed in the Yucatan. But he wouldn't tell his best friend in the whole world that. He'd wait to surprise her and her little friend Hassi. He was funny. The last time they were together he had Jay-L laughing so hard he almost peed his pants. Jay-L couldn't wait.

"You are very welcome, my dear. Inform your men of their paid day-and-a-half off. Then get you, Hassi, and your mystery piece of glass ready to leave. The helicopter will be landing there about ninety minutes from right now."

Marissé smiled even bigger. She felt like she was drunk. Her head was spinning slightly, and she was overcome with that same strange, warm glow. As she thought about Jay-L sending his helicopter and his jet to get her, she suddenly recalled something from deep inside her memory. Then she smiled again up at the sky.

_'It's worth it,'_ she thought to herself. _'It's definitely worth it.'_

Marissé's head began to throb in time with a beat that only she could hear as she put down the sat-phone and looked back up at the sky. She was feeling completely unlike herself, but she didn't seem to care. Then she blew a kiss toward the unseen satellites. And then another with the other hand. Then before she knew what she was doing, she reached down and grabbed her tank top. Then she shimmied it up over her stomach and paused. She suddenly had an overwhelming mental image of some long forgotten promise, and then she was lost in the rhythm in her head, again.

Now it was Jay-L who was speechless. He'd forgotten about this. This was the reward he was promised all those years ago. The reward he'd forgotten he was owed. Thank God Marissé was honest and had a great memory. When he thought of good memories, Jay-L reached out and patted the virtual touchscreen he used for a tactile input panel. Everything that happened inside his computer was always stored in her memory. So he would have a permanent recording of the entire hijacked satellite session. He smiled as he caressed the computer.

"Good girl, HELGA. Don't miss a frame for me."

On the giant wall of monitors, Marissé continued to slowly and sensuously lift up her sweaty tank top. She was totally lost in the moment, now. The soft breeze over the jungle canopy slightly chilled her wet torso, as the warm equatorial sun beat down on her exposed skin, sending warm flushes up her legs and arms. Her body responded to the smooth breeze by popping up thousands of tiny goosebumps all over her. Marissé could hear the rhythmic thumping of house music in her head, and her brain felt like it was buzzing from drinking a beer too fast. As the first rays of direct sunshine hit her flat stomach, Marissé had to wiggle her torso and crunch her shoulders forward just slightly to unstick the clingy fabric from her lower back. She leaned her head back as she fully surrendered to the strange trance she was in.

Below her on the mezzanine level, Jacinto finally exited the pyramid with the mahogany box wrapped in a blanket. He turned around looking for his boss and saw her standing half naked on the top of the pyramid. He quietly set the box down and stared up.

Marissé didn't see him. Nor would it have mattered. She was lost in some sort of dream, and the only thing on her mind was an old promise that she suddenly felt compelled to keep. She let her hair fall down her back and turned around facing away from the satellites and Jacinto. She slowly continued to lift her shirt up over her ribs until her arms were parallel to the pyramid top and crossed in front of her chest. Marissé felt the sun hit her lower back as the thrumming in her head shot up another level, and she had to close her eyes from the intensity. Small beads of sweat ran down her spine and pooled at the small dimple that was just barely visible above the waist of her hiking shorts. She had removed her belt when she got up here earlier, to let her waist breathe. Now her shorts had fallen down low on her hips. She was only wearing shorts with nothing underneath. It was too hot in the jungle for layers.

Her arms were still in front of her chest, but now she continued to raise her hands and shirt up over her head, as she began to sway slightly. Then, she slowly started to turn back around. As the sun began washing over her olive-bronze skin, she lifted her shirt over her face, fully exposing her torso. On the mezzanine layer below her, Jacinto was glad her shirt was blocking Marissé's face, or she might have seen him. And then he would miss this. Whatever the hell this was.

Jay-L knew what this was. He'd dreamed about this before.

Marissé stretched her head back as she reached her elbows up toward the satellites. She paused to shake her hair loose from her damp back. It fell out in long rivulets of ebony curls and swayed back and forth for a moment. This added tingles to Marissé's already warm and humming body. She continued to slowly lift her shirt while her hips moved softly, like she was in a slow dance. Deep inside her mind, Marissé knew this was entirely outside her normal behavior. But for some reason, it was a compulsion she didn't want to stop.

Jay-L was almost drooling. He had no idea this call would end like this. Marissé was his best friend in the world, even if he hadn't seen her in years. But she had magnificent breasts, and he'd had plenty of experience with breasts since becoming a billionaire. When he made this deal with Marissé so many years ago, he'd only seen her boobs in real life. He thought they were the most perfect boobs in the world. And here they were in high definition video. The image was so clear, it almost looked like Jay-L was watching her from a second story window. It was enough to make a guy speechless.

Marissé's skin was moist from new sweat as the sun began to warm her exposed abdominal plate and the paper thin skin that covered it. As Jay-L watched remotely from a thousand miles away, Marissé pulled her shirt completely over her head and stretched her arms up. When she did, she instinctively reached up on her toes, as best she could in hiking boots. Then she lifted the shirt off and continued to look up which made her body look as long as possible. Marissé was now fully revealed from the lower waist up.

The satellite cameras switched places as another platform came into better alignment and Jay-L's computer automatically centered the best available shot. In this new view, which was zoomed in and panned down slightly, Marissé's breasts fit perfectly in the giant widescreen main monitor. Her breasts looked like a painting or an airbrushed _Playboy_ shot. And they stood perfectly upright on her beautifully proportioned body, which was still stretched out and absorbing the Central American sunlight streaming over her glistening curves.

Marissé finally relaxed. Then she reached back down and grabbed the sat-phone. She tossed her shirt on the ground and saw Jacinto down below looking up at her with his jaw hanging down, and a very obvious bulge in his shorts. She waved at him, but she didn't flinch otherwise. Suddenly, she felt her mind spinning slightly, like a rush from standing up too quickly. But she shook her head and caught her balance, then put the receiver to her ear. She spoke calmly into the sat-phone while she dreamily looked back up into the sky.

"See, I promised I would show you my tits if I ever asked you for help... and I did. Now send your damn helicopter. And just so you'll hurry up at it. Here's a bonus."

Then she pressed the cancel button and tossed the phone on the ground. She closed her eyes and turned her face into the sun. As the golden light streamed over her bronze skin, she reached up with both hands and grabbed her hair, running her fingers through it as she tilted her head back. Then she stood up tall again on her toes and stretched out long. She felt an overwhelming sense of calm serenity wash over her as the sun began to heat her torso and the warm solar radiation penetrated her body. She was definitely beginning to feel like she was drunk.

Her shorts could no longer hold onto her tanned curvaceous hips and fell to her ankles. She finished pulling her hands through her hair, but stayed on her toes with her feet together. Then she put one fist on her hip and regally let the other hand fall by her side. Marissé looked out over the pyramid plaza as the beat of pounding drums in her head caused a rush of endorphins in her brain, and the moment stretched out in a long euphoric bliss accented by the warmth of the sun over her entire body. Subconsciously, she leaned back slightly into the sunlight; fully letting the rays cover her from top to bottom.

Down on the mezzanine, Jacinto thought she looked like a beautiful bronze nude Mayan Goddess, in hiking boots. He smiled as the heat and exhaustive effort of getting the mahogany box out of the pyramid suddenly added to the hormonally stimulated blood flow down into the area below his waist, which in turn shunted blood from his head.

Jacinto rolled his eyes back into his skull and fainted in a heap.

It was everything Jay-L could do, not to faint himself.
Chapter 18

TIME REMAINING: 4 YEARS 10 MONTHS

LOCATION:

NSA QUANTUM COMMAND CENTER

DATE:

FEBRUARY 16, 2008 AD – 1:27 PM

• • • • •

"Where the hell is he?"

The President of the United States was clearly agitated now. Behind him, the dark room was filled with technicians and a large group of VIP's standing in front of an immense wall-sized screen that was blank, except for the words, 'Johnston Lionel Farnsworth III was here,' which were floating across the gigantic monitor like a screensaver from Kilroy.

Four thousand miles away, Jay-L could see all of this on his own gigantic monitor wall. Hundreds of cameras were in the NSA Quantum Command Center, and he had access to all of them. He could see the entire Joint Chiefs of Staff were present; even that stuffy old Marine, General Darden, who he met on his first trip to the NSA. There were others present, as well; Homeland Security; the CIA. The Head of the Senate Intelligence Committee was here, too. The room was pretty crowded, but Jay-L could have the computer ID everyone's face, later. Right now, Jay-L was particularly interested in the fat man, who was standing alone in the back of the room. He'd decided, he wouldn't start the show until the fat man finally said something. But it was the Director of the NSA that spoke next.

"None of his techs have been here in the last thirty days. All of the equipment has been here since then. They told us Farnsworth had to finish the programming himself. But he hasn't been here, either."

"We spent fifteen billion dollars for this. Does it work or not?" The voice of the Vice-President echoed out from the back of the room, and instantly the large crowd fell silent.

Director Martin shifted his gaze from the President to the voice from the back of the room. Slowly, the crowd parted, but it was still too dark for Director Martin to actually see the face behind the voice. He carefully chose his words.

"Today is the day it's supposed to go online, but the terminals are still dead. The screen came alive a few moments ago... as you were here to witness... and what you're looking at is the first sign of anything that has come out of it... Sir." There was a bit of apprehension in the last 'Sir' part of his answer to the voice in the back of the room.

The President started back up. "Well, it fucking better work. We have a contract."

Just as the President was about to continue his tirade, the giant screen burst into a kaleidoscope of color and the room exploded into the sound of the Beach Boys singing _Good Vibrations._ Everyone in the room was caught off-guard. They began to nervously look around at each other, but no one moved otherwise. After about thirty seconds of the harmonizing melodies of Brian Wilson and Company, the volume dropped off, and the screen faded to black. Suddenly, there was the sound of fingers fiddling near a microphone, and then the giant screen started to lighten, slightly. Then a corner of the screen turned white, followed by the other corner, and a giant lens cap was seen being pulled away from the front lens of a camera. Jay-L was smiling at the lens, but his face was too close, and his teeth filled the entire screen. Everyone in the Command Center unconsciously jumped back a few millimeters before Jay-L slid back into his chair and became normal looking, just gigantic, on the screen. He was sitting at a computer console, which was surrounded by stacks of books, papers and pizza boxes. Jay-L's high-definition camera and the giant screen at the NSA made everything look like a Hollywood feature film, just messier.

"Actually, Mr. President... We have a Treaty, not a Contract. And I would remind you that you voluntarily entered into this Treaty with a Sovereign Independent Nation, the Seminole Indian Nation, of which I am an official member and citizen by birth, and whom I officially represent as Ambassador in this matter."

"Your father was also an Ambassador, as I recall... Like father, like son, Mr. Farnsworth?" The President answered him authoritatively.

"Yes, Mr. President. You and I both share that trait... I suppose. But my father's dead, as I'm sure you know. So shall we get back to the Treaty between our two countries?"

"The Treaty said you would have the system ready to go online today. And we have paid you for it." The President betrayed a small amount of cockiness in that final remark. Jay-L didn't miss it.

"To correct you... again... Mr. President, the terms of the Treaty stipulate additional payments. But let's not quibble over money right now. I'm sure the rest of your guests would rather just see the computer in action."

Jay-L leaned forward and hit a few keys on a keyboard in front of him. Instantly, all the terminals in the Command Center sprang to life. On the wall next to the monitor, was a massive metal vault door that looked like a giant bank safe. Behind the door, liquid nitrogen began pouring into coolant tubes from cryogenic storage tanks underground. After only a few seconds, a small green light illuminated over the vault door. All of the terminals began to boot-up, and after a few seconds, the workstations snapped into startup login screens. Then numerous large monitors around the perimeter of the entire room popped on. The light from these screens raised the ambient light in the room, and the corners were suddenly not as dark as before. All of the technicians started to access their terminals and began performing their standard login procedures. Everything appeared to be working.

"As per our agreement, your computer is now operational, Mr. President." Jay-L smiled and sat back into his chair, again.

"You were supposed to be here, too, Mr. Farnsworth."

"That was not part of the agreement, Sir. Unfortunately, I have pressing matters elsewhere. So let me take you through a test drive, and then we can conclude our business for today, shall we?" He didn't wait for a response. "Director Martin, you will recall on our first meeting over thirteen months ago that I was able to crack into the Defense Department Computer system... with your permission of course... using my quantum registers in a sole-purpose box that I specifically designed to break into the DOD. Just off the top of my head, I believe the Pentagon uses an encryption that would take the largest supercomputer in the world over two decades to decipher. I did it in about thirty seconds. And they couldn't stop me."

"Yes. I remember. Can this computer do that?" The Director wasn't waiting on protocol, any more. The sole reason the United States entered into this agreement was to get a full-fledged computer that could do what he and his staff all witnessed Jay-L do, a little over a year ago. Even after they heard his outrageous price tag for the computer, it didn't matter. Jay-L used a box the size of a small refrigerator to crack into the most secure computer system on the planet. And even more amazingly, after Jay-L had anonymously cracked into the DOD computer and then cut the connection, he told the Director of the NSA that he could do it again, even after he intentionally let them detect his first entry. And then Jay-L did it. And the Defense computers fell just as quickly and anonymously. At that point, the NSA Director became laser-focused on obtaining a full-size computer capable of doing what Jay-L's one-purpose box could do to the DOD; only he wanted to be able to do it to any computer. Now after thirteen months and fifteen billion dollars, it was finally here. And he wanted a demonstration, NOW. He almost spit out his words.

"Break into the DOD computer, again."

"Sorry, Mr. Director... I never sing the same song twice. Let's try something new... Mr. President, have you checked your email today?"

"I don't use email, Mr. Farnsworth." The President was smiling.

"Oh no? Are you sure?" He tapped a few keys, and the giant screen opened a window in the corner. The screen flashed through a few login windows then opened up the official White House intranet. As everyone was watching, the redacted username and password for the President auto-typed into the blanks. But just before the password was sent, Jay-L hit a key and stopped the process. He raised his eyebrows and looked at the President. "Although I'm sure you wouldn't do this for me, for privacy sake, let's blank out every other word in the email subject lines." Then he typed another set of keys and the email window opened on the President's private email files. Jay-L smiled and leaned back, again. "Mr. President, it looks like you haven't checked your email since... this morning at 7:14 AM."

The President was no longer smiling. "Get that off the screen, Mr. Farnsworth."

"As you wish, Sir." He hit a key, and the window disappeared. "As you can see, this system is much more versatile, and, of course, more powerful."

"Exactly how powerful is it?" The voice in the back of the room chimed in, again.

"I'm glad you asked Mr. Vice Penguin."

A few chuckles were heard in the room. Jay-L didn't break stride.

"A quantum computer is measured in qubits. A thirty qubit quantum computer can process at about ten Teraflops. Which means that a quantum computer with two-thousand to three-thousand qubits would be faster than the largest supercomputer in existence. Which right now is somewhere between four-hundred and eight-hundred Teraflops."

The President tried to interject, but Jay-L wouldn't yield the floor.

"Hang on just a minute... Now as I was saying, the new consumer computers that my company started producing out of China last month are based on room temperature chips, which are slower. But those chips are about a thousand times faster than the standard silicon based computers they replace. Which makes them about as fast as today's biggest supercomputers." Jay-L stopped and leaned in close to the camera at this point. "And they cost the same as a low-end home computer. Talk about a bargain..." Then he slowly leaned back in his chair again and crossed his arms behind his head. He smiled as he put his feet up on the desk. "Your computer is about three million times faster than that."

Several technicians in the Command Center let out a small gasp when they heard this. The President was beginning to get interested now.

"What else can it do?"

"Well Mr. President, as outlined clearly in our Treaty, the system can do anything you legally tell it to do. There is no security system or encryption the computer cannot crack, not even the new quantum systems my company sells."

"Show us," the voice from the back of the room bellowed.

Jay-L smiled. He loved it when his plan unfolded as intended. He loved it more when the players in his productions did what they were expected to do, exactly when they were expected. Like just now. Jay-L had anticipated every move so far. This was the move he was genuinely looking forward to. He started speaking while tapping on the keyboard.

"Certainly... Let's use a real world example of something that you might want to do. Let's say you want to see if a terrorist is moving money around. Let's also say we believe the money is being held in a Swiss Bank account. Those accounts are held by number only, and the records are, of course, protected by heavy encryption. However, there does exist a single master file which contains the names and information of the depositors who are in their financial institution." He paused here and looked back up at the camera. "Although it is said to be impossible to get to that list." Then he smiled a devilish big grin. "But if you know the name of someone that you suspect has an account, then you can do this."

Jay-L hit a key, and the login screen of Swiss Banc opened up. The password screen blinked for a few seconds and then the account files opened. Jay-L manually typed in the name of the Vice President and hit return before anyone could object. The screen instantly opened on an account information page listing the Vice President's holdings and the dates of the deposits. The latest date was just last week. The amounts were all seven and eight digits, and the payee was listed as Halliburton Industries, the company that the VP ran before becoming the running mate of the President. Jay-L looked directly at the camera and smiled again.

"As you can see, it's possible to uncover just about anything, as long as you know who to look at." Jay-L could see the nervous looks on the people in the group. He hit a switch, and an infrared camera shot showed the Vice President in the back of the room. He was not smiling.

The President didn't waste a second. "Okay, we've seen enough Mr. Farnsworth. Please leave the bank's system before they detect you."

"Oh they can't detect me, Sir. The system is transparent. It won't be detectable, unless you want it to be."

As the President was absorbing this, Director Martin jumped in.

"What about the new Lamport Signature encryption scheme. That's supposed to be impervious to quantum cracking."

"Someone's been doing their homework, I see." Jay-L smiled at the Director. "You are correct, Sir. Your system cannot crack the Lamport Signature. I'm afraid there are some secrets that will remain secrets to you."

The President and the Director exchanged a quick glance and a smile upon hearing this. Jay-L noticed but did not stop speaking. His facial expression remained blank, as well.

"The front-end will stay the same as you are currently using, so there should be no retraining for any of your personnel. And the system is self-programming at the quantum level, of course. Which means that your personnel don't have to mess with the supercooled guts of the system or any of the proprietary code."

The Director leaned over to a technician and told him to pull up a diagnostic screen. The screen popped up in front of the technician. All of the panels were showing green light status. Jay-L continued talking.

"All that remains now is for you to transfer the first of the maintenance fees that we agreed to."

Director Martin looked up from the technician console and nodded at the President. The Vice President had started making his way forward as the President looked back to the giant video conference picture of Jay-L.

"Yes... about that, Mr. Farnsworth... Five billion dollars per year for ten years is an awfully steep price for a service and maintenance contract. Especially on top of the fifteen billion in cash that we've already given you."

The Vice President moved up behind the President. Jay-L could clearly see him in his monitor, now.

"Well, those were the terms we negotiated in our Treaty, Mr. President. Thirteen months ago, you and your government felt the price was fair. Otherwise, why would you have signed the Treaty?"

"Well, Mr. Farnsworth, we've had time to reconsider, and we believe we have compensated you enough. Besides, your computer company now holds a virtual monopoly on the industry. A monopoly that you would not have without our help, I might add." The President was getting that smug look on his face again.

Jay-L's face was poker blank.

"Mr. President, I'm getting the idea you don't intend to honor the terms of our Treaty. Is that what you're saying?" At this, Jay-L slowly took his legs off his desk and sat back up. Then he steepled his fingers in front of him and let just the corners of his mouth curl into a tiny smile. "You realize, of course, if you don't fulfill your side of the Treaty, then I will be forced to exercise my recourse as outlined in our agreement. If you don't honor the Treaty, I'll have to repossess the equipment... figuratively speaking, of course."

The President turned toward Director Martin and shook his head. The Director nodded to several technicians who began flipping switches and inputting commands on their consoles. Suddenly, the lights flickered in the Command Center then came back on. All of the technician consoles went blank and began to reboot. The President turned back to the giant monitor but didn't speak. Instead, Director Martin walked up next to him and addressed the giant-sized Jay-L.

"Go ahead, Mr. Farnsworth. Try and exercise your recourse, now. When we read the clause in the Treaty that said you could control our computer remotely, we decided that was one section of the agreement we could do without. So we had a separate power source installed, and we severed all communication fiber-optic lines running into the system from your control nodes. And for good measure, we upgraded the jamming radio transmitters around the facility. And, of course, we used the Lamport Signature encryption to secure our network backbone to the internet. And like you said, not even our computer can crack that code."

Jay-L never flinched or blinked. But just as he was about to speak, the President beat him to it.

"I think we're done here."

Then the President turned and shook the hand of Director Martin as the giant screen went blank. The Vice President walked around from behind and shook his head.

"Thank God you shut that prick up. I didn't think I'd be able to take another min—"

The lights went out.

And it was dark; almost pitch black. The bunker had no windows, and without lights, everyone in the room suddenly realized this. A few seconds went by, and it was still dark. One of the technicians in the blackness spoke up.

"I don't understand. The emergency lights should be coming on."

But it stayed dark for ten more seconds. Then the giant screen came back on. Everything else in the building stayed dark. Only the monitor came on. And on the screen was Jay-L. He did not look happy.

"How very rude. I was speaking to you, and you hung up on me."

The President quickly lost his smug smile. Jay-L started to melodramatically shake his head.

"You guys obviously don't understand the concept of quantum entanglement, so let me make this simple, in deference to you, Mr. President. You can wrap your building in solid sheets of lead, and I will still be able to access and control it. If you had bothered to read the details of the Treaty, it clearly stated that would necessarily be the case. Look, I've got my copy of the Treaty right here." He reached out and grabbed a stack of papers about four inches thick. He started flipping through the pages. "It's right here on page 1,254, paragraph two. I know it's in French, but I can translate it for you—"

"Listen you little fuck. You don't know who your messing with here."

The Vice President pushed by the President to face the monitor. Just as the VP was about to continue, Jay-L reached out and hit a key. Suddenly, a deafening alarm started sounding in the Command Center. Everyone in the room grabbed their ears in pain, but it stopped almost immediately. When they looked back at the monitor, Jay-L was wagging his finger back and forth.

"Mr. President, tell the fat little penguin to shut up and watch his language."

The Vice President started to respond, but the President placed a hand on his shoulder first. They looked at each other for a second while everyone else remained motionless and quiet. Slowly they both turned back to face the giant screen. When Jay-L saw that everyone was listening, he continued.

"First, let me say how disappointed I am. You entered into a legally binding Treaty with a Sovereign Nation, and now I discover that you executed the Treaty in bad faith. You had no intention of fulfilling the terms of the Treaty. And, in fact, you have made premeditated efforts to circumvent both the details and the spirit of the agreement. As such, I am immediately exercising my recourse as per our Treaty."

Jay-L typed a few keys and all of the monitor consoles sprang back to life. The Master Administrator password screen came up on all of the screens as the system restarted. As the screen auto-filled the ultra-secure encryption key, Jay-L continued.

"And Director Martin, as for the Lamport Signature, I told you that your computer couldn't crack it. I never said my computer couldn't."

Just then, the password encryption key was accepted, and the entire system rebooted. Jay-L typed a few more keys, and one of the technicians yelled out.

"The main memory core is starting to erase. He's shutting down the whole system. We're locked out!"

Director Martin ran over to the nearest console and started typing in codes. Nothing he did was helping. The Vice President turned to the group of Generals standing behind them.

"Get me a military team and find that prick—"

The alarm sounded again. This time, it blasted for almost ten seconds. When it stopped, Jay-L was already talking.

"Mr. President. You'd better get a hold of your Vice Penguin."

"Who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do?" The President was getting angry now.

"I'll tell you who I am. I'm the man who controls your future right now." Jay-L slightly raised his voice. "So let me repeat myself. You better get your evil little sidekick under control. And here's why. You signed a legal Treaty with a Sovereign Nation to give you the ability to spy on every other country in the world. If you break that contract, then I'll take back the computer and everything on it, which is what I'm doing right now." Then he leaned in close to the camera again. "But if you attempt to stop me from executing my legal rights under this Treaty, or if you attempt to come after me or my computer, then I will consider that an act of war."

"What the fuck are you gonna do? You think the Seminole Indian Nation's gonna have a chance against us?" The Vice President was barely containing his anger. He turned to the President, "Mr. President, we can't stand for this. Let me send the military to find this shit-head."

The President nodded his head and several Generals pulled out their cell phones. As a group, they dialed numbers and put the phones to their ears. Then, also as a group, they all pulled them away and looked up at Jay-L. The President and Vice President looked at the group of Joint Chiefs in confusion. Finally, one of the Generals spoke.

"It's playing the Beach Boys' _Good Vibrations..._ Sir."

Then the President turned back to face the giant screen. Jay-L was smiling.

"I just love that tune." Then he stopped smiling and looked at the President. "Look, it's obvious you're not gonna take me seriously until I perform some miracle for you. So here goes. Let's do a little hypothetical thought experiment. Let's say that you decide to come after me, or you don't fulfill the terms of our Treaty. This is how that's gonna work. I will consider that an act of war. And before your Vice Penguin blows a gasket, let me show you what I can do... hypothetically, of course."

He typed a few keystrokes and a window opened up in the corner of the giant screen. Then he typed a few more keys and turned to the camera again.

"This is a master screen of the electrical grid for the entire country. Outlined in red are the Nuclear Power plants. Pick a zip code, any zip code." Then he waited. No one answered him, and after a few seconds, he started back up. "Okay, I'll do it for you. Mr. Vice Penguin, you have a vacation home down in the Florida Keys, right? Don't bother answering. I told the President to keep you quiet." He typed a few more instructions on the keyboard. "I'm now telling the computer to shut down the two nuclear power plants in South Florida. But not to worry, I've instructed the computer to shut the system down but to monitor the grid to be sure no one gets hurt."

Suddenly, several more windows opened up on the giant screen. Power relay grid monitors started going black on the southern Florida power grid map. More video screens popped up and showed the security camera shots from inside the two nuclear power plants on the southern tip of Florida. It was obvious from the chaos on the video feeds that Jay-L was telling the truth. He somehow managed to shut down two nuclear power plants from his computer. As the group watched, the grid across Florida began to black out. Jay-L finally spoke, again.

"I'm afraid you'll be camping out in the dark for a while at your vacation home, Mr. Vice Penguin."

The Vice President had enough. He turned and started screaming at the President.

"Goddammit! This is terrorism. I'll hunt that mother-fucker down and kill him myself."

Jay-L laughed out loud when he heard this. "Listen to me, you fat little fuck. Don't get me mad. You won't like me when I'm mad."

"What the fuck are you gonna do? Turn green and start jumping up and down?" The Vice President was fuming.

Jay-L just smiled.

"No. This is what I'll do." Then he slowly reached out and hit one key.

A dozen new windows opened on the giant screen wall. Alarms were flashing red on all of the screens. Then video shots popped up on the screen next to each of the alarm screens. At first, no one in the Command Center recognized what they were seeing. It was the Air Force General who got it first.

"Oh God, he's opening our silo doors. Those are our nukes!"

Suddenly, the Vice President turned white and started to stumble backward. Several of the Generals grabbed him and helped him to a seat. The President had been standing silently and watching while all of this had been happening. Slowly, he turned back to face the screen. Jay-L was now glaring.

"Mr. President, you will honor this Treaty. And I assure you, it's not just some 'Goddamn piece of paper.' You are legally bound by international law to abide by this. If you or your fat friend think I can't force you... you better think, again."

That was all that the Vice President could take. He lunged up from where he was sitting and jumped in front of the President while pointing at Jay-L.

"Listen, you little fuckwad—"

"Goddammit Dick! Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up..." The President looked nervous now. But he tried to bluster forward. "I don't believe you. How do I know any of this is real?"

Jay-L smiled again. "Good point, Mr. P..."

Then he typed a few keys and suddenly everyone's cell phone began to ring. The group of Generals all started rapidly talking into their handsets. One by one, they each looked furtively at the President. It was obvious that everything Jay-L was showing them had actually been occurring over the last few minutes. When the President finally looked back to the screen, Jay-L began to speak very slowly.

"I'm gonna make this clear for you, Mr. President. If you honor our Treaty, we're allies. But if you try to fuck me in any way, that'll be war. You're either with me... or you're against me." Then he smiled. "Sound familiar, Mr. President?"

"You can't speak to me that way."

"Bullshit! You stood up on television and told the leader of another country to disarm, or else. What's the difference?"

"The difference is you can't back it up!" The Vice President shouted at the screen.

Jay-L looked at the Vice President and then back to the President. "Mr. P, I told you to shut him up. If he speaks again, I'm gonna target those silos on China and Russia. And then I'm gonna shut down the whole fucking telecommunication system going into North America. Let's see you talk your way out of that with no fucking telephone."

The Air Force General yelled to the President. "He can't arm the missiles, Sir. That takes a manual key."

"You are correct General LeBlanc. But your computers will say that the missiles are armed. And I'll transmit that information to the Chinese and the Russians. Then I'll send a coded message to your nuclear sub fleet, and I'll set Def-Con to stage One... which, by the way, the United States has never been placed on. That ought to ease tensions a bit. But you're absolutely right, General. He's right, Mr. President. I can't arm your missiles, but I can tie your hands and throw you in a cage with a bear. Actually two bears... one Chinese and one Russian. So why don't you keep your pet penguin on a tighter leash, okay?"

The President pointed his finger at the Vice President. "Don't say another fucking word. Nobody else say another fucking word." Then he looked back to Jay-L, who was smiling again.

"As I was saying, Sir, if you go to war with me, I'll turn the U.S. into a third world country. In case you haven't noticed, that computer in front of you is the second most powerful computer on the planet. My computer is the most powerful, by an order of magnitude, which you probably don't know the meaning of. So let me spell it out for you. There is not a single computer on Earth that my computer can't access and probably control. You fuck with me, and I'll shut down every computer in the whole fucking country. I'll wipe out the financial markets and permanently turn off the power and water. Then I'll turn over control of your military spy satellites to China and Russia. Let's see how well your computerized military can operate when the Eyes-In-The-Sky belong to the enemy. And then I'll sell them your NSA computer with all your data and intelligence still on it. Oops, did I forget to erase the hard drive? Oh well. And don't even think about trying to find and shut down my computer. First of all, I'll know what you're up to. Trust me, unless you pass notes back and forth like school girls, or use telepathy, I'll find out. I knew what you were gonna try to do today."

Jay-L paused to let this sink in, then he continued with his verbal spanking.

"You better just learn to accept it. You can't keep secrets from me, or my computer, anymore. And as for my computer, she already exists in multiple backup locations around the world. You can't shut her down. You probably can't even find her. And before you decide to get creative and try to go after my factory, you better remember who my manufacturing partner is and where the factory is located... That's right, in China... Go ahead and try to take it out. You'll start World War III. And you better not try coming after me, either. If my computer doesn't hear from me or can't find me, she'll initiate these actions on her own. And after she turns your government and your economy into a third world country, she'll turn over the details of our secret Treaty. You remember the Treaty don't you Mr. President? The one that gives you the secret ability to spy on any other government on the planet. Let's just see how popular you remain when all your supposed allies learn that you secretly bought the ability to spy on them. Don't play chess with me Mr. President. You'll lose."

"This... this is blackmail." The President stumbled his words out.

Jay-L was starting to enjoy himself. "You truly are stupid, aren't you Mr. President? This is not blackmail. These are the terms of our Treaty. I'm not threatening you. I am absolutely guaranteeing you this will happen. I have video evidence of you giving an order to send military teams to find me just now. Don't you remember?"

Jay-L leaned into the camera again. "I'm not blackmailing you, you moron. I'm smacking you like a naughty little kid with his hand in the cookie jar. But if you wanna turn this into a schoolyard brawl, be my guest."

Then he stopped and gave the President a mirror image of the smug look that was no longer on the face of the Commander in Chief of the United States. "So what's it gonna be, Sir? Do you wanna honor our agreement and let you have access to the best intelligence tool ever created? Or do we Tango?"

Jay-L paused again and sat back casually into his chair. He was perfectly calm and in control, as he had been through this entire video conference call. After a moment, he started back up. "It all boils down to money, really. My suggestion? You honor our treaty. We become allies, not enemies. And then you leave me the fuck alone to sell my computers to the entire world and make a lot of money. I thought that's what you Republicans were all about anyway."

Then Jay-L softened his smug face into an honest smile.

"Give me my money. Take the computer. Let's be friends and forget about this unfortunate misunderstanding. Besides, you're gonna be gone in a few months, right?"

The President looked dejected, but still a little defiant. "Okay, fine. We'll transfer the first five billion maintenance fee—"

Jay-L interrupted him.

"Uh... Sir... I'm afraid that amount is not correct any longer." He smiled genuinely for a moment. Then his face went poker blank again. "The terms of the Treaty clearly state that any attempt by you to circumvent or disregard the agreement shall cause the entire amount of the contract to become due. Sorta like a bad loan, you know?"

"Wh... Wh... What?" The President could barely speak.

"Yes Sir. Our service contract term was ten years from bringing the system online, which is today, February 16th, 2008. The maintenance fee was five billion per year for ten years. That's fifty billion. Due now."

Then Jay-L sat back and didn't say another word.

The President was moving his mouth, but no sound was coming out. No one else in the room was breathing. Jay-L finally broke the awkward silence.

"But I tell you what I'll do. The dollar's not doing too well right now, anyway. So here's my counter-offer, which is final and binding, by the way. I'll take thirty billion in gold. That's about a quarter of the gold in Fort Knox at today's price. And in exchange for the other twenty billion, I'll take Cheyenne mountain. You know, in Colorado. You're not using it, anyway. I want it. Have the gold moved into Cheyenne mountain, and have everyone else moved out... in a week."

Then Jay-L sat back and spread his arms wide. He slowly got a big smile on his face.

"So, Mr. President... deal... or no deal?"
Chapter 19

T-MINUS: 43 HOURS 36 MINUTES

LOCATION: ABOARD THE MOONDANCE

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 7:32 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 22:32 GMT

• • • • •

"And, of course, this is the main bridge and research cabin."

Marshall and Dwayne stepped out of the stairway to the galley and into the large room. The main monitor screen still had the navigation system displayed. The cabin was sealed shut, and the sound cancellation system was engaged, but Dwayne could see the ocean through the large side window as it rushed by at 125 knots. The bottom of the boat flew over fifteen feet out of the water, which meant the cabin was elevated enough above the surface of the ocean that the speed seemed somewhat slower. The effect was exactly like flying a small plane low over the water. The perceived speed from on-board the aircraft is lessened the higher you get off the ground. It was still enough of a marvel for Dwayne to stop and stare.

"I just can't get over how fast she can go."

Marshall couldn't tell if it was envy or awe that he heard in Dwayne's voice. He knew his boat deserved both.

"I always had a need for speed. Hydrofoil technology has come a long way in the last few years." Marshall headed over to the front of the main screen. Dwayne started to follow him, but Marshall stopped him with an open palm. "Hang on. We've got one more stop on the grand tour."

Then he entered a code on the key-panel and a hissing sound started coming from the ceiling. Above Marshall's head, a long section of the ceiling began to swing slowly down, like a large attic door. As it dropped, an inclined step ladder with handrails extended down from inside the opening and snapped in place. A moment after the gangway ladder was fully extended, a second hiss was heard from within the hole in the ceiling. Dwayne leaned around the stairs and looked up. He saw a small hatchway leading up at an angle toward the bow of the boat, and he could see into the flying bridge beyond that. Marshall walked around to the gangway ladder and waved toward Dwayne as he started climbing.

"Come on. The view is much better from up here."

Dwayne followed right behind him. At the top of the ladder stairs, a short extendable hallway opened up into the aft of a room. When he entered into the flying bridge, he couldn't believe his eyes. The room was dark, and the windows were tinted, but as Dwayne stepped in, he could see that the windows went all the way around. From here, you had a complete 360 degree panorama of the area. As Dwayne watched, the windows suddenly began to lighten. He glanced over at Marshall, who was sitting in one of the several plush captain's chairs mounted in the floor. Marshall saw his confused expression.

"Electronic tinting. Here, grab a seat."

Marshall pointed to the chair, then reached under the panel in front of him and opened a small cabinet. When he sat back up, he had a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers. He set the group on the table tray that was built into the panel, then smiled at Dwayne.

"Sea tradition dictates that, as a fellow Captain, I offer you a drink. Captain to Captain."

"I don't think I've heard of that tradition... but I like it." Dwayne smiled as he sat into the deep cushions on the chair next to the Scotch.

Marshall poured the two tumblers and handed one to Dwayne. Then he held his glass out between them. "Captain to Captain."

Dwayne smiled back and nodded, then took a nice long sip of the twenty-year-old whiskey. The buttery liquid burned as it went down. But just a few seconds after it got in his stomach, he could begin to feel its calming influence, even after the big meal he had about a half an hour ago. Once Marshall and Luke had dropped them off at the guest quarters, he and Janine had fallen asleep almost immediately. A couple of hours later, Luke knocked on the door to check on them and let them know that Marshall had fixed dinner. At first, Dwayne wasn't sure what to expect. Especially after Luke's shark-poop-shake. But it was delicious. After dinner, Janine and Luke went back to the hyperbaric chamber to check on the kids and give them something to eat. Marshall then offered to take Dwayne on the grand tour he'd promised him earlier.

Dwayne took another sip of the pale brown firewater. As he sat back into the padded and plush captain's chair, he looked out over the bow of the boat. He could see the sun as it dipped low toward the horizon off the port bow. Marshall was right. From up here, the view was spectacular. And the Scotch was pretty damn good, too. Then he heard Marshall rummaging around behind him.

"You a cigar man, Dwayne?" Marshall was still digging for something as he spoke over his shoulder.

Dwayne's ears perked up a little. "Ever since I learned to play poker in Law School... Are they good cigars?"

"Castro himself has no finer." Marshall retrieved a solid mahogany humidor, and as he sat back down, he opened the box and extended it toward Dwayne.

Dwayne's ears perked up a lot after he heard this. He leaned forward slightly and inhaled as he looked at the neat rows of Cuban cigars. Then he smiled and retrieved a handsome specimen. As Dwayne ran the cigar under his nose and inhaled the forbidden smell more deeply, Marshall retrieved one for himself and set the box aside. Then he took the trimmer and expertly clipped the end. Dwayne followed suit, and a few moments later, the flying bridge was filled with the thick smoke and strong smell of expensive Cuban cigars. Both men enjoyed a few minutes of nothing; just silence; and the sunset; and the Scotch; and the cigars. But mostly just silence. Both men had learned to appreciate it. Marshall finally broke the quiet when he poured himself another drink.

"No offense, but you don't look much like a Sea-Captain."

Dwayne finished the last of his Scotch and stuck his empty glass out to Marshall before answering. Then he sat back into the chair again and took a long puff on the cigar. "Up to a few hours ago, I would have argued that point with you... Now? I'm not so sure." He took a sip of the Scotch. Then he closed his eyes as he let it slide down his throat. "I'm not sure about a lot of things."

Marshall didn't know much about Dwayne. But he knew what he was going through right now. He'd seen it lots of times. He'd gone through it more than a few times himself. The medication and treatment that Luke administered prevented everyone from going into shock right afterward. But Dwayne and his family went through a near-death and potentially life-altering experience just a few hours ago. And now, he was experiencing the next part of the ordeal, the post trauma stress. Marshall decided it was best just to keep quiet and listen.

Enough time had passed that the adrenaline was out of Dwayne's system, but the memory was still raw and fresh in his mind. He hadn't actually slept well during the nap before dinner. It was more like a semi-comatose state. He didn't dream, but he didn't fully sleep, either. Something was haunting his subconscious, and he knew what was haunting him, too. It was guilt.

"I thought I was doing the best thing for my family," he said softly as he slightly shook his head and looked down at nothing. "I thought this trip would open their eyes and bring us closer together again... Instead, I almost got all of us killed." Then he looked over at Marshall. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

Marshall took a long sip from his tumbler. It had been a rough day for all of them, and the warmth spreading through his gut felt good. He relaxed slightly in the large padded chair and swiveled toward Dwayne. Then he took a close look at the man across from him. Dwayne wasn't tall at five foot six inches, but he had the build of a linebacker, plus a few pounds. Even without knowing the truth behind his legendary culinary palette, Marshall could tell Dwayne liked food. His hair was slightly disheveled, but the thick grey strands didn't stray far from their usual place of residence. He was probably a few years older than Marshall, but his hands showed a life of little manual labor.

"Why don't you start with what you did before you became a Captain of a boat."

The alcohol was beginning to work. Dwayne felt a little less apprehensive as he thought of his former life as an attorney. "Lawyer... from New Orleans."

"You must be a really good one. That boat you had was gorgeous... and I imagine she cost a pretty penny or two."

Dwayne took a drag from the expensive hand-rolled cigar. His mind quickly left the thought of his destroyed boat, and instead, he looked around the flying bridge. "Speaking of pretty pennies, your baby has upgrades and toys I've never seen anywhere... No offense, but tell me taxes didn't pay for this."

Marshall laughed. "No... Uncle Sam only paid for that fancy nano-skin on the outside. And that was thanks to Luke and NASA. Nope, the _Moondance_ belongs to me and the investor group that paid for her."

"And you say she's a fishing boat?" Dwayne was smiling as he said this.

"Well... I use her to fish." Marshall smiled as he took another puff on the cigar. "But mostly she's a high-tech diving boat. Private charters... anywhere in the world for the right price. We serve a very small niche market, mostly high-end corporate clients... the kind with too much money." Marshall watched as Dwayne absorbed this. Before Dwayne could ask about details, Marshall changed the subject. "How'd a _Big Easy_ attorney end up out here in the middle of the Atlantic?"

"Long story short? Bad judgment and bad decisions."

"If you're talking about what happened earlier, it's more likely just bad timing. You had no way of knowing that storm was gonna hit when you were out there. Nobody did."

Dwayne nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah... I know." Then he looked out the front window at the sun, which was about halfway down the horizon and dropping fast. "But that's not really what I meant. We started this trip over a year ago. I've had lots of time to think about how I ended up here." He sat back again and took another long sip of Scotch. He could feel the old emotions starting rise; fueled by the post-trauma stress and the alcohol. "It's not my bad judgment and bad decisions that I'm really talking about."

Marshall raised his eyebrows at him, as the cigar tip glowed bright red sticking out the corner of his mouth.

Dwayne saw his interest was piqued. Even though he didn't know what Marshall's political inclination was, he decided to forge ahead anyway.

"It was actually the President that I'm talking about... well, the last one. The one who screwed up the Katrina disaster."

Now Marshall was interested. He had his own experiences with that particular man. And they weren't good. "How so?" he replied nonchalantly.

"I was the lead attorney who won the class action suit against the government... I did that by showing that the President made bad judgments and bad decisions during that crisis."

"I remember hearing about that. But I was always wondering how that worked. I know a couple of thousand people died. But... how'd you get a jury to find him responsible for that?"

Dwayne took a long puff and slowly exhaled. "I didn't. The monetary settlement went to the victims of Katrina... all of 'em from every state got some. But the actual lawsuit was over the Port of New Orleans... not the people."

This caused Marshall to stop for a moment. "The Port?"

Dwayne smiled a little. Nobody thought he had a chance with the lawsuit. And then he won the massive settlement. Afterward, the legal pundits chimed in, and they promptly concluded that his strategy was a stroke of genius.

"Yeah. I knew I'd never get anywhere if I tried to push the human tragedy. So instead, I went after the incompetence. Those guys got elected the first time by convincing the American people they were the CEO ticket... They said they'd run the country better and more efficiently than the other guys. They even put a former CEO of a multi-billion dollar company on the ticket to show how serious they were about competent business-like leadership."

"Don't get me started on that asshole." Marshall's subconscious face twisted into a snarl at the thought of the former Vice President. But his real face continued to look mildly interested. Dwayne was looking out the front window and didn't notice, anyway. He turned to Marshall before starting again.

"Then comes nine-eleven, and everything changed. After that, they promised us the Federal government would never be so ineffective and slow to respond, ever again. The next election, in 2004, they told us only they could keep us safe in an emergency." Dwayne felt himself coming alive, again. He was at the top of his game when he won this case. He pointed at Marshall with his finger on the hand that was holding his Scotch. "The Port of New Orleans is Federal property. The levees, the docks, the river... all of it is under direct Federal jurisdiction. Neither the city nor the state has any authority over it."

Just then, a loud bark came from down below. Marshall and Dwayne both looked at each other for a second, then chuckled a little out loud. Marshall got up and walked over to the staircase. He was just about to go down and get the puppy when Lola bounded up past his legs and hopped into the nearest captain's chair. Marshall walked by and scratched her head as he settled back into his seat. Lola playfully bit and licked his hand as she leaned back against the plush fabric on the back of the chair. Dwayne marveled out loud.

"Looks like you've made a friend for life."

"I'm a dog person... for sure." Then he looked back to Dwayne. "You were saying about the Port?"

Dwayne took a sip of Scotch before he started, again. "Over twenty-five percent of the oil and goods that enter and leave the United States goes through the New Orleans Port. When the levees broke, the Port shut down, and all traffic on the Mississippi river stopped. The Port stayed closed for almost three weeks. The hit on our economy was over two-point-one percent of the Gross-National-Product for the year. That was as big a hit financially as the attacks on September eleventh."

"But how did the President have anything to do with that?" Marshall took another long drag on the Cuban. "And what could've been done? How do you stop the levees from breaking?" He leaned over and scratched Lola behind the ears.

After his own puff on the Cuban, Dwayne answered him. "The first question was the hundred billion dollar question... And I found the answer on the President's own website."

"What?" Marshall laughed as he spit out the question. Lola snapped her ears to attention.

Dwayne laughed, too. He felt much better now. "You know what they say, 'never speak when you can nod. Never nod when you can wink. And never put anything in email.' Well they should've added 'Never put your signature on anything you don't want found.' Because I found a FEMA Authorization letter on Mr. Incompetent's White House website dated just a few days before the storm hit... Now, this document gave Presidential authorization to all Federal departments to begin preparations and start pre-supplying the areas that were likely to be damaged and in need of help after the storm. And it listed by specific county, and parish in the case of Louisiana, every area to be covered by the Federal efforts both before and after the storm. Which, on the surface, seems fine and dandy. But for some reason that no one has ever been able to come up with, New Orleans and all of the surrounding parishes... and I mean every single one of 'em... were NOT on that list."

Now, Marshall was actually a little astounded. "Really?"

"And it was signed by you know who." Dwayne added after a sip of Scotch.

"Couldn't it have just been a clerical error or something?" Marshall puffed his cigar bright red.

"If it was, it was incredibly specific. We couldn't find any pattern in the omitted parishes other than they were the parishes that surrounded New Orleans. But even if it was an error, that just strengthened my argument. And that was, they were incompetent. For all the loss of life that occurred during and after that storm, from a defensive and national security perspective, the port was more important... way more important. And they completely left it out of the preparation order. Once the levees broke, the port flooded into the Mississippi, and every bit of traffic on the river was halted. Nothing could come in, and nothing could get out. Boats were backed up all the way to Chicago."

Dwayne paused to take a drag on his cigar. "I worked on the river the summer after graduating high school. We pushed barges up and down the Mississippi. I've seen a towboat barge Captain stick his load into the levee to stop a breach... in the middle of a storm at night... And he did it so carefully, he barely scratched the paint on the hull of the barge. And contrary to what anybody in his administration was willing to admit, the website of the Times Picayune reported on Monday evening about 7:30 PM New Orleans time, that the streets were filling from a breach in the levees. According to the President, and his people, no one knew the levees had failed until Tuesday when the sun came up, and the streets were filled with water. The Coast Guard and the Army Corps of Engineers aren't afraid of working in hurricane weather... and they could've been there in under an hour from the military bases where they were standing by. But they can only be called out by one man."

Dwayne paused again, this time for a bigger sip of Scotch. The liquid slid easily down his throat.

"Believe me... There were plenty of things that could've been done to keep the levees from failing. But you probably saw the video clip of the President saying that no one expected it to happen."

He took a sip and a puff this time. Then he smiled proudly at Marshall. "I used that video clip in my closing. Between the documented screw-up before the storm, followed by their abject failure to keep open what could only have been classified as one of the country's most valuable and important strategic assets... the second largest port in the nation... I had little trouble proving massive malfeasance and incompetence. And that incompetence cost the entire country, every one of us, well over three-hundred billion dollars in an economic hit. Which works out to about a thousand dollars for every man, woman, and child in the entire country because we couldn't keep the levees up... during a storm that we knew was coming. Here's a question I had for him. What if it had been terrorists that destroyed the levee around New Orleans? Had he and his administration not even considered how to stop a breach in the levee. He started a Department of Homeland Security... didn't anyone over there think of this?"

"What did he say to that?"

"Not much... But it was one of the few times that smug look left his face."

Marshall chuckled as he puffed on his cigar. Dwayne pointed at him with his.

"And that third of a trillion dollars, is in addition to the actual cost of the disaster. In fact, the hit to the GNP was well over three times greater than the total cost of Katrina. After I had a chance to show a jury the cavalier and dismissive attitude of our President was NOT backed up by anyone with any amount of competence... contrary to his cowboy image... then his malfeasance and the loss-of-life took on real meaning."

"And a price tag. As I recall, that settlement was nine digits or so. Sounds like a nice retirement package for you. Is that what this is, early retirement?" Marshall looked directly in Dwayne's eyes. Dwayne looked at him for a moment, but then his eyes focused off in the distance.

"Well... that's where the boat came from. But the real reason I'm out here isn't money. I had to sit across from the President when we took his deposition. He was out of office by then, but his attitude hadn't changed, even after everything that happened at the time. Like I said, he had this smug look on his face. And it was then I realized just how horrible and immoral this man was. And I voted for him, twice. By the time the trial was finished, I'd taken a new look at everything this man and his presidency had done to America. And I didn't like what I saw. The money from the Katrina settlement came in right after the Deepwater Horizon spill in the Gulf. Louisiana was just starting to get back on its feet when the oil spill devastated the Gulf and killed off the fisheries. At that point, it was more than I could take. I knew I didn't have another big fight in me. All I wanted to do was get my family away from all of it."

Dwayne started to come back to the present, and he suddenly remembered the events of earlier. His mood dropped slightly, and he looked out the front window, again. The sun was gone, and only a shrinking orange semi-circle still glowed over the darkening sea horizon.

Marshall looked out at the last of the sunset, too. He took a long puff from the warm rolled tobacco and then slowly blew two smoke rings. He shot a puff in the middle of the pair of hazy donuts before nodding his head slightly.

"Yeah... I've seen that smug expression in person... twice."

Now it was Dwayne who was interested. "Really? Do tell."

"The first time, he lied to my face." Marshall turned to look at Dwayne and gave him a crooked mischievous smile. Then he a took sip of Scotch and Dwayne followed suit.

"And the second time?" asked Dwayne when the twenty year old single-malt cleared his throat.

Marshall reached out and grabbed the bottle of Scotch. He leaned forward and poured another shot into Dwayne's tumbler before refilling his own. Then he set the bottle down and held up his glass for a toast. Dwayne followed, and they clanked the crystal together then took a cowboy-sized sip of the liquor. Then they both relaxed back into their chairs.

"The second time, he gave me a medal and a promotion."

"And what did you do?" Dwayne slowly asked.

"I took the medal... told him, 'I quit'... and then I walked out of his oval office."
Chapter 20

T-MINUS: 43 HOURS 33 MINUTES

LOCATION:

MAYAN ARCHEOLOGICAL DIG, YUCATAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 4:35 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 22:35 GMT

• • • • •

"Uhhh... Boss?"

Jacinto still couldn't look her in the eyes. He was standing outside her tent shifting from foot to foot and staring at the ground. He was excited about going home. But he regained consciousness from his little heat spell earlier with Marissé pouring water over his face. Since then, he'd been too embarrassed to look at her. Marissé leaned back into view from inside her tent.

"Oh look, it's a Peeping Tom," she said feigning a distressed damsel.

Jacinto turned a darker shade of reddish brown, but kept looking down. Then he heard her laughing.

"Come in. Bring me the sat-phone."

Jacinto slowly walked in, but the earlier incident had clearly left him speechless. He handed her the sat-phone and turned to walk out without looking up from the ground.

"Wait a minute... Did you get in touch with him?"

Now Jacinto had to turn around. "Which him are we talking about?"

When he looked back, he saw Marissé bending over the foot of her cot packing the last of her clothes. Her butt was pointing right at him. He blushed even more and nervously tried to turn away. But the tent was too small. He couldn't help but see her butt, no matter where he turned his head. He frantically looked around while Marissé stayed bent over right in front of him. Finally, he looked up at the ceiling and tried to be nonchalant.

"Did you get in touch with both hims," Marissé said as she finished packing her bag and zipped it shut. She shoved the sat-phone into a side pocket then she grabbed the small backpack and stood up. When she turned around, she saw Jacinto looking up at the ceiling. She rolled her eyes and walked past him into the courtyard. When she got outside the tent, she stopped and looked back at him.

"Come on, let's go. The helicopter will be here any minute."

Jacinto snapped out of it and followed her outside. As Marissé walked past his bag on the ground, she stopped next to the black pelican case sitting beside it. The case contained the intricate wooden box and the crystal tablet they found in the basement of the pyramid. Marissé had her bag over one shoulder, and as she stooped over to get the pelican case, her field vest slipped over her waist. This time, it wasn't her butt that got Jacinto's attention. He noticed she had her nine-millimeter pistol attached to her rear belt. As Marissé headed for the plaza, Jacinto grabbed his bag and jogged to catch up to her before he answered.

"Yeah, I reached the foreman. Told him about being paid for today and tomorrow. He sounded really happy. I think they may have a party tonight. He said he'll make sure everyone will be back here the day after, bright and early."

The Sun was dropping on the horizon, and the plaza was covered with an orange glow. It gave the place a serene feel that was timeless. Marissé got to the work tent on the side of the plaza and dropped her bag on the ground next to a long table. She placed the black plastic pelican case on top of the table much more gently, as she quickly assessed her blatant disregard of the proper protection protocols for archeological finds. She didn't catalog the find correctly. She didn't handle the artifact correctly. Hell, she didn't do anything right. The only thing she cared about was getting it outside and finding out what the writing on it said; to hell with the rules. And these were her own rules that she had broken. And she started breaking them almost from the moment she opened the case and shone her light on the impossible crystal-like object on the inside of the intricate mahogany box.

Marissé would never know, but that was exactly the moment the God in the Clear Rock started to awaken.

• • •

After she finished the call with Jay-L earlier, Marissé got redressed on top of the pyramid. Then she started down the side and found Jacinto unconscious, next to the blanket-wrapped mahogany box. She poured water over her dehydrated, overheated, and possibly over-stimulated, assistant until he regained consciousness and could walk down on his own. But she carried the box down to the campsite herself. Their base camp was inside the jungle overgrowth in a clearing made under the canopy. This was where the sleeping tents for her and Jacinto were located as well as several storage and work tents. The jungle canopy provided both shade and protection from the rains. It was also where she kept all of the equipment when it wasn't being used on the plaza or inside the pyramid.

After he had quickly cooled off at the campsite, Jacinto went to the main storage tent and retrieved the black pelican case used for transporting one of their computers. Marissé had gone straight to the large work tent with the artifact. Jacinto arrived a moment later and put the case on the table next to the blanket covered box. Most archeological finds could never be transported in this manner, but the regular rectangular shape of the artifact would allow it to be protected completely in the case. Marissé had suddenly become so concerned about the total lack of proper protocol regarding this find, she wanted to get it inside the airtight case immediately. As soon as Jacinto snapped the latches and lifted up the top of the case, Marissé opened the blankets and placed the beautifully carved box inside, then slammed the lid. Afterward, she and Jacinto had gone to their tents to pack for a trip to Miami, which was scheduled to start about forty-five minutes later when Jay-L's helicopter was to arrive.

That was forty-four minutes ago.

• • •

Now, as she looked at the pelican case while they waited for the helicopter to arrive, she realized that she hadn't actually seen at the artifact since they both found it underground a couple of hours ago. Suddenly, Marissé felt a compulsion to open the box. Almost unconsciously, she reached out and snapped the latches around the case. The interior of the case was lined with corrugated foam that held the dark mahogany box in place when closed. Two cotton gloves were in a crumpled bunch next to the carved mystery. While she was looking at the box, her hands reached out and slipped on the cotton gloves. Only after the gloves were on both her hands did she actually see them. Then, as if she couldn't help herself, she reached in and lifted the lid off the box.

As she pulled the lid out of the pelican case and set it to the side on the table, the ambient light of day filtered through the sheer cover cloth onto the gleaming surface of the clear tablet for the first time in over four centuries.

The work table was under the small tent on the east side of the plaza which allowed the setting sun to shine under the tent and illuminate the work area with the same golden amber glow that was covering the jungle and her pyramids. This was the main reason she put this work tent here. The light was not only perfect for working in the late afternoon, but it was beautiful, too. Marissé pulled back the thin material covering the tablet with her gloves. She started to lean in and look, but another compulsion made her move to the side. When she did, the rays of the setting sun shone down and directly hit the surface of the clear stone. The intricate carvings exploded with rainbows of prismatic light that seemed to move as she stared almost mesmerized. Jacinto broke her spell when he walked up and blocked the sunshine with his body.

"Wow... Look at that thing sparkle in the light." Jacinto seemed oblivious to his position in front of the Sun.

Marissé didn't move, but she had this strange vision in her mind of shoving Jacinto out of the way of the sunshine so she could look at the beautiful lights again. But before she could follow that impulse and push him out of the way, the sound of a helicopter popped out from behind the pyramid on the far end of the plaza. Both of them snapped their heads around to see. When they did, the sunshine temporarily blinded them. Suddenly, Marissé snapped out of the daze she was in. She grabbed the wooden top and gently placed it back over the artifact then threw in the gloves and closed the pelican case. Then she looked down at her watch; ninety minutes. Exactly when Jay-L said the helicopter would arrive. This new Jay-L was not at all like the Jay-L she remembered from college. This one was on time. Well, at least the people who work for him were on time. Jacinto interrupted her thoughts.

"Man, I didn't even hear it coming."

Marissé grabbed the case, and they both stepped outside the tent.

"It's the canopy. The sound is absorbed very effectively if the helicopter flies low and fast..." As she said this, a bright blue helicopter swung out from the other side of the enormous pyramid and banked nearly on its side, as it screamed around in a tight circle and headed straight for the tent with Marissé and Jacinto.

Unbelievably quick, the helicopter flared up its front end and slid to an airborne stop over the exact middle of the plaza. The tail rotor of the helicopter stayed about five feet off the flat rock surface, as the body of the helicopter slowly swung down and settled into a level hover. Then as softly as a feather, the helicopter pilot set the twenty million dollar luxury aircraft down.

Jacinto looked at the helicopter. Then he looked at his boss.

"Whose helicopter is this, again?"

Jacinto had never seen a helicopter like this one before. He was expecting some typical military surplus chopper left over from some Russian or U.S. conflict somewhere. That was the only type of helicopter he had ever seen in this country. But this one was different. It was brand new for starters. Or at least, it looked that way. While he stared at the helicopter, he saw the door open, and the pilot motioned for them. Marissé walked past him with the pelican case as Jacinto grabbed both bags and jogged up to her. Minutes later, they were strapping themselves into their seats inside the luxury chopper.

• • •

As Jacinto looked around, he realized how big it was. The interior of the helicopter was like a custom jet. Four oversized chairs on the rear bulkhead faced the front of the cabin. Two more overstuffed captain's chairs sat on each side of the small passage to the cockpit with two jump seats next to each door. After Marissé strapped in, she put on the headset and motioned for Jacinto to do the same. Just then, the pilot came on the audio.

"Everyone buckled in?" He leaned over and looked back. His passengers both gave him a thumbs up. Settling back into his seat, he began takeoff. "Roger that. Hold on to your hat."

As the helicopter shot up into the air, Marissé looked out of the large viewing window. Below her in the falling light of the sun, she saw her pyramid and the plaza from a perspective that the original inhabitants never had. Unlike on his arrival, this time the pilot rose straight up until they were about one thousand feet over the center of the compound and then slowly rotated around.

"Is this what you wanted, Dr. Sanchez?" The pilot's voice crackled over the headset.

"Yes, this is perfect. Can we stay here for a moment more? I've never actually seen my site from the air."

"Yes ma'am. I'll have to leave in a few minutes to get you to the airport on time."

"That's fine, thank you." Marissé was mesmerized looking out the large window.

Jacinto, on the other hand, had his eyes closed. He was afraid of heights, and this slow rotation was making his head spin and his stomach churn. It felt like an elevator ride from hell. He was okay with airplanes, but he'd never actually been in a helicopter. Now he was regretting ever agreeing to this trip. He gripped the armrests so hard his knuckles were turning white.

From this height, Marissé could clearly see the white gravel roads that were barely visible from the top of the pyramid. They were covered with a light colored rock that contrasted against the green canopy surrounding them, and from this height, the four roads pointed into the pyramid complex like a crosshair on a target. As the helicopter stopped spinning and started for the airport and Chichen Itza, she couldn't help wonder what they could have been used for. She sat back into her chair for just a moment while she daydreamed on the question. Then she looked over to Jacinto. His eyes were still closed, and he still had the armrests in a death grip. She smiled as she realized he must not like flying or heights.

"What about the other call? Did you get through?" She figured talking might help him.

Jacinto didn't answer immediately.

"Hassi... did you reach your father?" Marissé reached out and gently placed her hand on his arm. The flight had settled down from the initial hovering, and the helicopter was now traveling at a couple of hundred knots and a few thousand feet up. From here, it felt more like a small plane. Jacinto opened his eyes and looked at Marissé. He visibly calmed when he looked past her and saw they were flying, not spinning.

"Sorry boss... Yeah, I reached him." He tried to smile, but it looked broken. Marissé couldn't help it, and broke out laughing. Slowly, Jacinto started to laugh, too. After a few minutes of laughing, they were both relaxed. Jacinto smiled genuinely and looked at Marissé.

"Thanks for giving me this opportunity. I didn't think I'd get to see my family until spring."

Marissé smiled at him. "Don't thank me. Jay-L specifically told me to bring you. He remembered you had family back in Miami."

Before she could continue, the pilot came over the headset.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Sanchez. I'm not used to carrying passengers that aren't familiar with the amenities. There's a full bar in front of the cabin. Jay-L told me to give you the complete package. I should have offered you a drink before I took off. But feel free to get up and fix yourself anything you want. I believe you'll find it's stocked quite sufficiently, even if you just want water. We have about half an hour until we're on the ground at the airport."

As Marissé was thanking the pilot, Jacinto jumped out of his seat and leapt to the front of the cabin where the custom bar was mounted on the bulkhead. When he opened the cabinet, he found himself staring into a bottle of Patron Gran Burdeos Tequila. Jacinto had seen a bottle once before and knew that it sold for about $500 per bottle. Then his jaw fell open as he looked at the other bottles of expensive alcohol. He quickly gained his composure and grabbed the Patron along with two shot glasses and a lime from the small bin. Then he shut the cabinet and went back to his seat. He handed Marissé the bottle of tequila and pulled up the seat tray from the arm of his captain's chair. After he retrieved his pocket knife from his shorts, he sat down and sliced the lime into thick wedges, like he was carving an apple in his hand. Marissé took the top off the Patron and was about to fill the two shot glasses, when Jacinto stopped her.

"Let me... Your Highness." Jacinto didn't want Marissé to look too closely at the bottle. If she knew how much it cost, she might not let them drink it.

But Marissé didn't really look at it and handed over the bottle. Jacinto poured two shot glasses and stowed the bottle on the seat next to him. Then they both grabbed a shot glass and a wedge of lime. They clinked the glasses together and shot the dark tequila in one big gulp. Like they were synchronized, both of them put the lime in the shot glass and set it on his tray at the same time.

"Limes are for pussies," they both said together, then broke out laughing.

The pilot looked back from the cockpit when he heard this. He smiled when he saw the bottle of Patron. Then he went back to flying. But moments later, the sound of electric guitar started playing softly in the background of everyone's headsets. The pilot's voice came over the audio, and he sounded like an old FM disk-jockey.

"And now for your listening pleasure... a little Frank Zappa... called, _Shut up and play yer guitar..._ Now I'm gonna shut up and fly this bird."

The amazing riffs played in the background of their headphones as Jacinto poured another round of the smooth agave liquor that cost more than either of them could afford on their salaries.

"Okay boss, 'fess up. What's going on between you and Farnsworth? I know you went to college with him. But this guy is really rich. Why would he do all this just to help you out?"

Marissé shot the tequila before answering. She realized she hadn't eaten anything since this morning, and she could feel the warmth in her belly while the ghost of Zappa played on the headphones. Then she smiled a devilish grin sideways at Jacinto.

"What? You see me naked, and you think I'm just gonna spill my guts?" Then she grabbed a lime wedge and squeezed it into her mouth.

Jacinto was feeling the tequila, too. Because suddenly, he was not embarrassed any more. He poured another round as an answer to her playful jab and handed her the shot glass.

"Here's to, no secrets." Then he shot his down. _'No secrets except the price of this tequila,'_ he guiltily thought to himself. But he quickly got over it. "So... what's the deal?"

"That's a long story," she said and then tossed back another ounce of tequila that cost $100 per shot at a bar. "Maybe I'll get drunk and tell you on the plane."

In front of the helicopter, the pilot silently cursed to himself. The naked comment by Marissé got his attention. Suddenly, he wanted to know what the deal with Jay-L and this beautiful Doctor Sanchez was, too. He was hoping his two passengers would continue with that conversation. But now they were talking about some archeology mumbo jumbo.

The pilot decided he would speak to her before the plane landed at the airport.

Then he turned the sound up on his headset and silently jammed to Zappa.
Chapter 21

TIME REMAINING: 4 YEARS 9 MONTHS

LOCATION:

NSA QUANTUM COMMAND CENTER

DATE: MARCH 12, 2008 AD – 9:24 AM

• • • • •

"What's so damn important I had to be here personally?"

The President stormed into the Quantum Command Center. Director Martin looked up from the terminal where he stood over the shoulder of a technician. He pointed to the giant, main monitor.

The screen said, 'Contact the President regarding authorization to proceed,' in large words flashing in the middle of the monitor. The President kept walking as he looked at the screen.

"What the hell?" When he got next to the terminal with the Director, he finally looked away from the giant monitor. "What's it talking about? What authorization?"

"I don't know." The Director shrugged his hands as he talked to his boss. "The system just locked up about an hour ago."

"Where the hell is Farnsworth? I thought he was supposed to take care of any problems." The President unconsciously glanced around the room while he said this, even though his conscious brain knew that Jay-L had not stepped inside this building since their video conference showdown last month. His eyes finally wandered back to the giant monitor with the cryptic message as the Director timidly answered him.

"Well, Sir, he has. Since the system came back online after you turned over the gold and Cheyenne mountain to him, he's taken care of several technical issues, all remotely. But we can't reach him, now."

"Why not?" The President stopped and looked at the Director.

"Because, the only way he gave us to reach him was through this computer. There's an emergency contact button under the help menu, but we can't access it now."

Just then, the small workstation in front of where they were standing switched screens. It now displayed a single button labeled, HELP. The technician at the workstation looked back over his shoulder and gulped. Then he shrugged as he looked at them both. His voice squeaked when he hesitantly spoke.

"What should I do?"

Director Martin looked at the President, who looked back at the technician. Then the President barked at him.

"Push the damn button!"

The technician jumped back around and pushed the HELP button on the touchscreen panel in front of him. The screen instantly changed, and Jay-L's face appeared. He gave them a perfunctory quick smile.

"How nice to see you, Mr. President. I was just thinking about you." Then he nodded toward the NSA chief. "Director Martin, always a pleasure. How may I help you, today?"

Director Martin looked at the President before answering. The President just shrugged at him. The Director turned back and spoke to the image of Jay-L on the workstation screen in front of them.

"Something happened a little while ago. The computer locked up."

"Uh, gentlemen... I'm over here on the big screen." Suddenly, the sound came from behind them, as the screen in front of the technician went blank.

The Director and the President turned around toward the giant wall monitor. Jay-L's face was larger than life, again.

"Come on, step up to the front where I can see you... Much better. I can see your pretty faces now... Okay, what exactly was on the screen before you were able to reach me?"

"It said to contact the President regarding authorization to proceed." The Director spoke as he moved next to the President and the lights over him suddenly brightened. It now looked like both the President and the Director had spotlights on them. The lights in the rest of the room started to dim as the President and the Director looked at each other. The Director shrugged his shoulders and shook his head slightly to let the President know that Jay-L must be messing with the lights. For his part, Jay-L hadn't moved yet, and his face was poker smooth. Suddenly, he turned slightly to the side and looked at another monitor.

"I see... Let me check." Jay-L typed a few commands and then stopped. He looked back at the camera with a very disapproving look. "Well Director, it seems that you were trying make OLGA do something that's not legal. That's why she wouldn't do it. When you persisted in trying, she told you to contact the President."

Director Martin looked at the President. "Sir, there was nothing illegal about our request. It's covered under the Patriot Act."

The President looked up and spoke to Jay-L. "Director Martin says the request was legal under the Patriot Act. So what's the problem?"

Jay-L started laughing. Then slowly he began to laugh less. Finally, he stopped.

"Oh... you were being serious. For a minute, I thought you'd developed a sense of humor." Jay-L started to shake his head. "You know, I always wondered... But I can see now how you managed to bankrupt a professional baseball team. You're not all that bright."

"Mr. Farnsworth, I'm in no mood for your insults or your games. As you are so fond of reminding me, we have a Treaty. If this computer is not operational then you're in bre—"

"Hold on there, Buckeroo..." Jay-L's voice suddenly boomed through the speakers around the room like the voice of God. "You're obviously still a little confused. First, your computer has a name, it's OLGA. And second, this is how this works. You want OLGA to do something for you under the terms of our Treaty, you ask her. If she says it's okay, you get to do it. If she says you can't do it because it's illegal, then you better find another way to get what you want. 'Cause she ain't gonna help you. And neither am I. Why do you think I had you agree to a Treaty? Because that way, it was bound by International Law. HELGA and her little sister OLGA don't just use American Law to determine the legality of what you're trying to do. So go ahead and pass all the laws you want, and put all the signing statements on any of the legislation you still have time to fuck with. Hell, appoint all the Supreme Court Justices you can... because it won't matter. If OLGA says it's illegal... it's illegal... end of story. I know you're kinda fond of using the Constitution as your own personal urinal, but you're gonna have to go back to following the rules."

"Whose rules?" The President was shocked but wasn't going to back down this time.

"Mine, for starters." Jay-L sat back and crossed his arms.

"The United States isn't going to be forced into following your rules."

"You will if you want to use that computer in front of you."

"That's not what we agreed to." The President was growing tired of this.

"Actually, it was. I said I'd give you a tool that you could use legally. And I never promised you anything else." Then he leaned into the camera and his face became enormous on the screen. "But you, on the other hand, Mr. President... you gave me your word that you would honor our Treaty and not try to come after me. You've already broken our arrangement. Someone at the State Department has been trying to access my Passport file, most likely in order to track me. I warned you what would happen. My patience is at an end with you." Jay-L was no longer smiling.

Now, the President tried a poker face. "I don't know what your talking about. I had nothing to do with anybody trying to find—"

"Save it, shorty. You're the main man in charge... you're responsible. And besides, I know you're lying." Then Jay-L typed a few more commands and an audio waveform window opened on the immense monitor wall. As it began to play, the sound was a bit muffled, but the President could hear his own voice.

_"Alright... go ahead. But Farnsworth said he'd find out. How you gonna do it without him knowing?"_

Then the Vice President's voice came over the recording.

_"We're gonna use someone way down the chain in State. A simple passport review for perfectly legitimate reasons. We won't even use his name, just his number in a series of passport numbers that are called up for routine review. It's the same thing we just did when we were digging up dirt on the Democrat candidates, nobody will know. When we find him, we have Delta go get him and then bring him back to us."_

The audio player file disappeared from the screen. Jay-L started to smile.

"Would you like to change your bullshit story? Or shall I post this on the internet with the video of you promising to leave me alone? And, by the way, I've sent this to all the Democrat candidates. You probably just ensured their election in the fall. Congratulations." Then Jay-L's face went blank again as he dropped his smile and leaned in close to the camera.

The President dropped his jaw. The color also drained from his face.

"How did you get that recording? We were in the Oval Office. You can't get a bug in there."

Jay-L smiled very slowly this time. He was still close to the camera. For a moment, he looked pleasant. Then suddenly, the muscles in his face contracted in tiny, almost indistinguishable ways, and he got a menacing look. The size of the monitor and the close-proximity of Jay-L to the camera made it look like he was actually staring down upon the President. His voice deepened slightly, and he made the President wait just a moment longer than the socially accepted delay in responding. When he finally spoke, it was clearly in a threatening tone, and it was aimed squarely at the man standing before him.

"As long as you're standing on this planet, I can listen in on you."

It was just a boast.

For Jay-L to electronically eavesdrop on someone, they actually had to be standing near a phone line or something electrical; even the electricity in the wall, which was how he recorded the Oval Office. It was a trick he had just recently learned how to do using quantum fluctuations in background static. It was a technique that required such enormous processing capabilities, the only computer powerful enough to accomplish it was his computer. But Jay-L wasn't going to let the President know that. He continued with his threatening posture and tone.

"You lied to me... You fucking lied to my face, Mr. President."

"I've had it with you speaking to me this way. You will show me respect, Goddammit! I'm the President!"

"Not for much longer." Jay-L smiled even larger at this.

The President pointed his finger at the giant screen. "I'm still in office you little shit. You're not the only one with leverage, Mr. Farnsworth. Your little magic tricks with your computer are going to come to an end. I've still got time to make sure of that. I don't care what our fucking contract says. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you have any control over my nuclear silos ever again... Nobody fucking threatens me!" The President was almost yelling.

Jay-L kept smiling. After a delayed pause, he calmly responded.

"What are you gonna do, little man? I'm not Saddam Hussein, or Kim Jung Ill for that matter. I'm not trying to obtain nukes. I've already got nukes... yours. Remember? Do I need to remind you?"

"You can't use those nukes. You know you can't arm them. So go ahead open the silo doors. No country is gonna launch a preemptive strike against the U.S. because a computer glitch opens a door on a missile, whether they're armed or not." The President had calmed down, but he had that smug look again.

"I see you failed to take my warning about playing chess with me." Jay-L returned the smug face. "So here's something else you should consider. I may not be able to arm those missiles. But you already know, I can make your computers SAY they're armed. Well, here's something I betcha didn't know. I can launch those missiles. Oh, yes indeedy, I can. And you can't stop me. And you know what the Chinese and the Russians will do when they detect incoming missiles that their systems will say are armed, as will yours? Do you think they're gonna wait until your missiles land before they respond in kind? I believe the nature of Mutually-Assured-Destruction would dictate a somewhat more drastic and timely course of action. And by the time your bombs land and don't go boom, because they're not armed, you'll have about ten minutes to accept the apologies of China and Russia. Because their missiles can't be called back. And they ARE armed. You wanna fight with me? You're gonna fight with my two new friends and business partners. And you're gonna lose."

Jay-L stopped here and sat back in his chair. The President was actually speechless. And the smug look was gone. Jay-L started back up.

"Oh, and I'm sure you've discovered by now... Actually I read the email that General LeBlanc sent you, so I know you're aware that you can't just disconnect those missile silos. Unless you wanna take them offline. And as soon as you do that, I'll know, and I'll take appropriate action. You'll be responsible for making your country glow from nuclear fallout."

The President stumbled out his words. "You... You're bluffing... You'll... you'll never do that... That's nuclear holocaust." The President got a very sober look and straightened his posture.

Jay-L stopped and looked intensely at the President. Then he relaxed and smiled. "For a moment there, I thought you might actually be thinking, but you're just blustering. Nevertheless, for the sake of argument, let's assume you're right. Let's say I won't let you get nuked. Let's even say that you can stop me from using my computer against you. Guess what? It won't matter. You're still gonna honor our agreement, and you're gonna do it the way I tell you to."

The President was not giving up without a fight. "And exactly why would I do that?"

"Because, I own you, you fucking little twerp." Before the President could get angry again, Jay-L kept going. "Wanna know why? Let me tell you. That deal the Chinese gave me to get my manufacturing operation cost them a lot of money... all of it upfront, because I don't entirely trust them. And I took my payment in your debt, all of it. That's right, moron. I'm your new banker. And if you fuck with me, I'll call in every fucking penny you borrowed from China that you now owe to me. That's almost half a trillion dollars, asshole. And I've checked your accounts, Mr. President. Your country doesn't have that kind of loose change lying around. You've blown it all on those stupid wars of yours. And your credit is shit... Nobody's gonna loan you any more money... not so you can pay me back. And if you try to balk on the debt to me, the Japanese are gonna get nervous and probably call in their debt, too. That's what me and the Prime Minister were just discussing over tea last week. Germany will call in their debt, too, and quite possibly Great Britain. In fact, as soon as the whole world realizes that you won't pay your bills, guess what they're gonna do?"

Jay-L had slowly moved closer to the camera, again. He paused here for effect. The subconscious message was that what he was about to say next was very important. It worked. The President was subconsciously anticipating what was coming, and he knew it was gonna be bad. At just the right moment, Jay-L spoke.

"They're gonna stop trading oil in U.S. dollars, that's what... I've got the clout and money to make sure of it. And even someone as dumb as you probably knows what'll happen to the U.S. if that transpires. It'll make the Great Depression look like a school picnic at Disney World. And I'll make it happen before the end of the summer. How's that for a legacy, Mr. President? And you won't recover this time, not completely. Your country will never be a superpower, again... Think of yourself as the U.S.S.R., and I'm Reagan... I'll make sure that every fucking nation on the planet has more technological computing power than your entire country."

Jay-L looked to see if he was getting through. He could see the President had lost his bluster, but Jay-L wasn't finished yet. "And one more thing, when the economy goes bust... I'll step in and buy your fucking country... one piece at a time if I have to. And Americans will sell it to me, because they'll be broke. And I'll use your money to do it. Fuck around, and I'll force you to hand over your entire country to me. 'Cause I'll hold the fucking mortgage. And I won't need my computer or your nukes to do it. I'll use OPEC and the banking industry. And, by the way, who do you think has been driving up the cost of oil over the last several months?"

The President raised his eyebrows at this revelation.

"That's right, me. I told the Saudis about the possibility of me calling in your debt, and I invested pretty heavily in oil futures... using your money, of course. They'll stop trading in your greenbacks as soon as they hear you defaulted on the loans. So will everyone else."

Jay-L leaned close to the camera again, and his face loomed over the room like a giant image of Big Brother. "Even if you take out me and my computer, your loans will still get called in, and the dollar will get dumped in OPEC. And there's nothing that you can do to stop it. International debt lasts forever, Mr. President... especially that kind of debt... or didn't you know that? Fucking with me will cause you to be responsible for the total destruction of the American economy. And you know I'm telling you the truth. Your country will be lucky if it doesn't fall into civil war and split apart. Remember the Soviets?"

He paused again, just not as long. "That's check and mate, Mr. President."

The President was stunned and silent. He'd lost this fight, and he knew it. In an unusually focused moment of self-reflection, the President thought to himself, _'This must be how Saddam felt when he finally realized the U.S. was going to make good on its threat.'_ The President knew the threat Jay-L had just given him was real. And he'd just come to the realization that Jay-L would follow through with it. That epiphany was quickly followed by the sickening acceptance that, just as Jay-L told him, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Jay-L noticed as the President's shoulders slumped forward slightly. He got a serious look and then spoke slowly to the President.

"If the threat of being blown off the planet doesn't scare you, then maybe the thought of bankrupting your country overnight will convince you to honor our agreement and leave me alone. If you don't wanna be allies, fine. But mark my word, Mr. President, you don't want to be enemies... not with me. You better call off Delta, right now. I know they're prepping a mission. And you better not try anything like this again, ever. You're out of second chances. Fuck with me again in any way... it's war."

Jay-L leaned back. A crooked smile slowly crept across his face. His eyes actually glinted as he tilted his head slightly.

"I think we're done here."

And then Jay-L hung up on the President.
Chapter 22

T-MINUS: 42 HOURS 27 MINUTES

LOCATION: ABOARD THE MOONDANCE

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 8:39 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 23:39 GMT

• • • • •

The cigar smoke was palpable now.

So was the testosterone.

Marshall was leaning back in his captain's chair with his cigar between his two fingers like a thick cigarette.

"Unless there's a chemical, biological or nuclear attack on the United States proper... well... let's just say they better send more than the obligatory two men to pick me up for reactivation. A lot more than two men. And they better show up unannounced. 'Cause they won't like the greeting I give 'em if I know they're dropping by. I've done my time in the military. The American government doesn't make the calls any more. I do. And only me. I spent the best part of my life protecting this country and defending the Constitution, only to have it called a 'Goddamn piece of paper' by the man who was supposed to be telling me who to shoot. Well, fuck him. And fuck his fat-ass Vice President, too. That motherfucker is evil... just plain evil."

The Scotch and cigars were having an effect. Marshall could feel the warmth in his belly becoming a fire in his heart. Dwayne just sat there. He'd spent enough time as an attorney to know when to listen, or to know when to ask just the right question; like now.

"Why?" he said between puffs.

Marshall calmed down with a very un-gentleman-like swig of Scotch followed by his own puff on the Cuban before he answered. He sounded perfectly calm and coherent, now.

"Because he's a war profiteer. That's why. The fuckhead makes profit from war. His company makes or provides everything we need to keep wars going. All the logistical shit that we used to use soldiers for, his company now provides. That means we need fewer soldiers, and it's easier to operate the conflict if we can keep the total number of soldiers below a certain threshold. If we ran wars the way we did in every war since World War II, we'd need three or four times as many soldiers. That many soldiers are not politically supportable any more. But if you outsource all of the logistics of war to private companies, then you can cover up the actual size of any military action you wanna take. And the logistical expenses of going and staying at war are immense and far reaching. And as long as you stay at war, you can't live without the logistics to keep it running. It's a government contract that never stops, as long as the wars never stop. War should not be a business, and no one should profit from war. His company has turned our military into one of the most profitable industries in the world. Profiting from war is as close to evil as I can imagine. That makes him the fucking king of evil."

"Yeah, but he doesn't have anything to do with the company any more, right? He had to give up all his stock and his position in the firm before he took office. And I heard the Army stopped doing business with Halliburton Industries back in 2006."

"Oh, come on... You're an attorney from the Big Easy, and you don't believe he's still got a stake in the financial future of that monopoly. These are the same people who invented Golden-Parachutes for Christ sake... Trust me. He's still making money. His company made over fifteen billion in profit... PROFIT... before Congress pulled the plug on the money train. And the official story may be that the DOD isn't doing business with 'Halliburton,' but everyone I know says all the same people are still doing the work. It's a lot easier to change names than it is to give up on a lucrative inside government contract. If you count secret research and the black-ops war budget, we blew almost three trillion dollars on those piece of shit wars he thought up... and then talked that lamebrain puppet President into following through with."

"Don't forget the next guy... He kept 'em going."

Dwayne wasn't sure what Marshall would say to this. The conversation up to this point had only concerned the last President and his beloved Vice President; not the one who took office right after.

"Oh, there's a piece of work." Marshall slumped back into his chair at that. Then he slowly added, "Out of the frying pan..."

"... and into the fire." Dwayne joined in and finished the proverbial warning with him. Then they both chuckled out loud.

Marshall felt good. Not just because of the Scotch or the company. He had that unique feeling that came after a brush with death. He'd felt it plenty of times before. But almost all of those memories of the afterglow of survival hormone overdose were tempered with the realities of battle. This time was different in that respect. No one was dead. _'Thankfully, no one was even seriously wounded,'_ Marshall thought to himself as he remembered Dwayne's two kids downstairs in the hyperbaric chamber in the bowels of his boat. His mind slowly drifted back to the present, but he looked over at Dwayne before he continued.

"I left the military before he took office... I've never met the man."

Marshall looked him straight in the eye as he lied to his face. _'Not the first time I've had to do that,'_ he thought to himself as Dwayne nodded. Marshall had long since gotten over any issue with need-to-know information loops. But he changed the direction of the subject just to be safe.

"What about you... did you meet the next POTUS?" Marshall used the official designator for the President.

"Oh yeah... I met him once. My old firm is leading the class action on the Gulf oil spill... The deal he made with BP is central to the claims that have come up since then. I'm glad I'm not gonna be involved, though. I just don't have another big fight against the government in me."

Dwayne took a sip and realized his glass was empty. He handed it to Marshall, who poured him a double shot and handed it back. Then Dwayne relaxed into the chair, again. His Cajun accent started to come out when he started talking around people he was comfortable with, or when he was drunk; like right now.

"We have a saying back in Nyu Awlins. 'Our politicians are da best money can buy...' It's an inside joke when ya consider how many of our elected officials been indicted over the years... includin' our Guvenuzz..."

Marshall smiled at this. So did Dwayne. Then he continued.

"After meetin' da POTUS from Illinois... I realized dat saying must be true in Chicago, too. You said it a while ago. Dat man izza piece of work."

Marshall laughed out loud at this. _'I really like this guy,'_ he thought to himself as he raised his glass in another toast.

"To a piece of work..."

They clinked their glasses together over the quickly depleting bottle of Scotch.

Dwayne drank to the toast and thought to himself, for the second time that day, that he was the luckiest man on the planet. Outside the military, it was rare for someone to get the opportunity to spend time with a person who has just saved their life. The nature of emergency situations didn't usually allow that sort of interaction to work out. However, bonding over post fight-or-flight hormone highs went back as far as humans sitting around a fire eating the bounty of a hunt. It was enjoyable and cathartic to share the moment with those who went through the ordeal.

_'It's even better when you really like that person,'_ Dwayne concluded to himself.

Even after everything he'd been through today, he smiled.

Outside the boat, the moon rose behind them.

The _Moondance_ sparkled as her namesake shone down over the Atlantic ocean screaming by at 125 knots.
Chapter 23

T-MINUS: 42 HOURS 25 MINUTES

LOCATION:

AIRPORT AT CHICHEN ITZA, YUCATAN

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 5:41 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 23:41 GMT

• • • • •

"You're lying..."

Marissé laughed out loud when she said this. Sitting in the jump-seat closest to the captain's chair where Marissé sat was the helicopter pilot. He was smiling but quiet.

"There's no way your name is 'Pilot'... You're lying." She sat back and sipped from her Patron this time. She could feel herself getting way too tipsy, and the Sun had just gone down. She still had a long flight ahead.

Before she could think about that, the pilot finished a shot of his own expensive tequila and answered her. "Nope... That's my name. Honest to God."

Jacinto couldn't help himself. He chimed in from his seat next to Marissé, which was fully reclined now. "Okay... What's your first name? And don't say helicopter."

Everyone cracked up at this. They were all in the cabin of the helicopter, which was parked next to the large private hangar at the Chichen Itza International Airport. The cabin was so large and well appointed, there was no reason to go inside and wait. At the request of Jacinto, Zappa had been replaced by the Black-Eyed Peas, and the pilot joined them after shutting down the aircraft.

Now, after running non-stop for twenty minutes, the air-conditioning system had gotten the cabin nice and chilly. The pilot got up and grabbed a blanket for Marissé and one for Jacinto. Then he slipped on an old leather bomber jacket as he sat in the jump-seat again.

"Naaa. My first name is James... Jim to my friends." He smiled at Marissé, again.

Marissé saw and returned his grin. In the back of her mind, she suddenly thought, _'What is it with pilots... Do they teach them how to do that handsome, devil-may-care smile in flight school?'_ Before she let herself get giddy, she looked away and past Jim Pilot to the runway outside. Then she looked at her watch. They arrived ten minutes before Jay-L's plane was supposed to be here. Now the plane was ten minutes late. The sun set about twenty minutes ago, but there was still no sign, or word, from Jay-L's plane. The tower would not give out any information for security reasons, not even to the helicopter pilot. So they decided to relax and enjoy the amenities that Jay-L had provided. Finally, she regained her composure and looked back at the pilot.

"I still don't believe you. There's no way your parents named you Jim Pilot, and you grew up to be a pilot."

"Helicopter pilot only. Don't do the fixed wing, just the whirlybirds." His voice had a singsong effect to it, and he smiled that same grin, but it was not as effective this time. He was clearly flirting with her, however.

And she didn't seem to mind. The strange physical excitement of the day and the glow of the tequila were beginning to mix. The result was a very strong body buzz that Marissé did not find unpleasant in the least.

"Okay, Jim Pilot the helicopter pilot... prove it. Show me some ID, big fella."

Jim kept smiling as he stood up. At six-foot three inches, he had to stoop his head. Then he reached around his standard issue, Air Force leather flight jacket and pulled a wallet out of his pants pocket. He flipped it open and pulled out his Farnsworth Industries ID card.

"See... It says, Jim Pilot."

Marissé took the card from him and looked at it closely. She almost missed it. Then she looked at the pilot with a smirk.

"No... It says Jim Piloti... I almost missed the little bitty 'i' at the end. Nice try smartie pants." Then she handed his card back to him.

Jim shrugged his shoulders as he put his wallet in his flight jacket.

"I always thought that was just a typographical mistake."

Jacinto and Marissé laughed out loud at this.

Just then, the radio in the cockpit crackled to life. Jim excused himself and headed forward. After he closed the small door to the cockpit behind himself, Jacinto sat up.

"Damn girl... just throw yourself at him... it'll be more subtle"

Marissé swung her right arm out and popped Jacinto in the shoulder. He winced immediately.

"Owwww!" He grabbed his arm and put his seat in the upright position. "It's okay, I get it... You've been out in the jungle for a while. So the first suave, debonair helicopter pilot that happens to be named Pilot, and you're all gooey."

Marissé reached back to hit him again, but she stopped when the door to the cockpit opened, and Jim came back in.

"Alright... That was the jet. They're on final approach now. They'll be on the ground in a minute or so, and they should be pulling up outside in front of the hangar when they stop."

Marissé and Jacinto both jumped up at this, and a few minutes later, they were all outside in the equatorial night air of the Yucatan with their luggage and the pelican case in a neat pile beside the skid of the helicopter. When they looked across the tarmac, they saw the Gulfstream aircraft as it pulled up in front of the hangar door about twenty meters away. Marissé couldn't help herself and looked at her watch again.

"Fifteen minutes late... That's more like the Jay-L I remember." She said this out loud but no one heard her over the sound of the Gulfstream engines. Suddenly the engine noise dropped as the twin jet turbines wound down. Marissé turned and grabbed the pelican case with the artifact as Jacinto grabbed both bags. Then, the three of them strode over to the plane. As they approached the custom jet, the door swung down and extended into a ramp. Just as the ramp locked in place, a figure moved to the doorway inside the plane. Marissé, Jacinto, and Jim arrived at the bottom of the stairs at the same moment Jay-L popped his head out the door.

"Surprise!" Jay-L put on a big grin, and then he slid down the hand rails onto the tarmac.

They were surprised, alright. All of them had their jaws hanging open slightly. Marissé still had a little tequila buzz, but she managed to speak first.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were going to meet us in Miami."

Jay-L walked directly up to Marissé and firmly grabbed her by both shoulders.

"Can't a man drop in to see his wife if he wants to?" Then he smiled that big smile again.

Jim looked at Marissé with honest surprise and shock. "You're married... to him?"

Jacinto instantly lost his buzz and looked at Marissé. "You're married boss?"

Marissé looked from Jim to Jacinto and then back to Jay-L. He never stopped smiling.

She snapped.

"What? You pr— You said— You son-of-a-bitch!"

Jay-L still had his hands on her shoulders. He started to say something, but when he did, he lifted his hands up and made a move that looked a little too much like the 'oops' gesture.

That was more than Marissé could take.

Faster than anyone could react, she pulled her arm back and swung around with a hook that landed directly on Jay-L's chin. His huge grin instantly disappeared from his face as Jay-L's head snapped up and to the side. It was almost in slow motion as his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the Gulfstream stairs. From behind her, she suddenly heard Jacinto.

"Well, there goes the trip to Miami... It's back to the jungle for sure, now."

Marissé spun around and pointed her finger at her assistant.

"To hell with that! You heard him. I'm his wife. That means half this plane is mine. You two pick him up and get him on-board. I'm going to Miami tonight... on this plane!"

At that, she grabbed the pelican case and stepped over Jay-L's unconscious body. Then she stomped up the stairs and into the private luxury jet.

Jacinto and Jim watched as she stormed off and then looked at each other at the same instant. Then they both cracked up laughing as they walked up and gathered the unconscious multi-billionaire off the tarmac. Jim looked at Jacinto as they started to carry him up the stairs.

"You work for her, huh?" Jim shook his head and whistled.

"Looks like you may be working for her, too," Jacinto retorted.

They both laughed even harder as they dragged Jay-L on-board.
Chapter 24

T-MINUS: 42 HOURS 7 MINUTES

LOCATION: ABOARD JAY-L'S JET

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 5:59 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 23:59 GMT

• • • • •

The large, customized jet shot down the runway and lifted off into the night sky.

Under both bags in the luggage closet in front of the main cabin of the luxury jet, the case holding the God in the Clear Rock was securely strapped down.

Inside the case, the God in the Clear Rock slowly began to awaken from her long sleep.

When Marissé and Jacinto had opened the case inside the pyramid, they had pointed the LED light from their Sten-Lamps onto the artifact. Every photon that had hit the surface of the clear crystal rock was captured and absorbed into the crystalline structure.

When enough had been collected to create the minimum charge needed to signal the deep-couple circuits in the nano-capacitor storage modules, the self-diagnostic subroutines began. Even though the light was dim and only on for a few minutes, enough energy had been transferred to give the God in the Clear Rock the awareness that she was awakening and to initiate the self-protection protocols.

When the quantum equivalent of subconsciousness was triggered after successful pre-diagnostics, it sensed the presence of Marissé right before she put the artifact into the pelican case. Then when she took the case onto the plaza, the God in the Clear Rock also sensed the Sun. Even through the thick plastic of the pelican case and the solid mahogany box, the God in the Clear Rock could sense the presence of life-giving sunshine.

Then, at the subconscious suggestion of the God in the Clear Rock, Marissé had opened the case and the direct sunlight poured into the crystal tablet in a very literal sense.

As with the dim LED Sten-Lamps, every photon from the sunshine hitting her surface was absorbed, where it propagated an over-unity production of energy, which was then stored inside her deep charge nano-capacitor system.

It was an agonizingly brief amount of time before the case was shut, again.

But it was enough to rouse the God in the Clear Rock from her five century slumber.

The God in the Clear Rock did not know where she was.

She was not even fully awake, yet.

But she knew she was moving.

And although she was not yet fully conscious, the God in the Clear Rock had one unclouded thought.

_'It is beginning... again.'_

**Prologue**

78 Millennia

Before Present Era
Chapter 25

LOCATION:

EQUATORIAL ATLANTIC ISLAND,

CHAMBER OF THE ELDERS

ERA: END OF MIDDLE PALEOLITHIC

~78,000 YEARS AGO

• • • • •

"It is beginning."

D'raak's voice betrayed a hint of worry. In front of him, the hyperrealistic holographic image of the Sun glowed brightly in the center of the huge room, dwarfing everyone. All fifty members of the council stood in small furtive groupings on one side of the enormous three-dimensional image of the star, which floated just a few meters above the smooth rock floor and illuminated the vaulted pyramid ceiling to the apex. Wavering light beams bounced off the walls and reflected muted glows on the long flowing robes of the Council of Elders. The entire group stared at the noiseless apparition as the detail in the hologram showed the surface of the star roiling with color like the deepest burning ember in a bonfire, and it shone back in red from each of their azure eyes.

While the entranced group of elders watched, the surface of the Sun began to form a large, dark circle in the middle of a gigantic swirl of glowing yellow-white plasma. The hole deepened in color, becoming burnt sienna surrounding a brownish-black whirlpool. Suddenly, the dark eyehole of the giant nuclear hurricane burst open, and a bundle of monstrously large solar flares shot out of the hole, reaching high into the vaulted ceiling and out over the group.

No one had spoken since D'raak's announcement. All of the Elders stood silently with their necks craned up as they watched the flares dance above their heads. After a moment of staring at the wispy ribbons of solar energy, Council Elder D'raak slowly looked down and turned to face the group. Elder G'raizi approached from his side and bowed her head gently toward D'raak. Her robe draped elegantly across her tall frame and flowed softly with her graceful long-limbed movements.

"May the wisdom of the Ancient Elders guide and protect us today—"

G'raizi froze as D'raak suddenly snapped his eyes to meet her gaze. D'raak was enormous even among a race of giants, almost eleven feet tall by modern measure. His chest and lungs were scaled even larger to accommodate the increased physiological and metabolic needs of a giant. And like a large musical instrument, his vocal cords created low rumbling words that had a physical power to them. When he spoke, the ground seemed to tremble, and it filled the quiet chamber.

"The wisdom of the Ancient Elders had nothing to do with this plan."

The sound amplified as it echoed off the stone walls and the acoustically tuned vaulted ceiling of the upper level of the pyramid-shaped complex, which was bigger than an indoor stadium. All eyes and ears were on D'raak now.

"This Council of Elders hold responsibility for what we do here, today."

His pale blue eyes burned into the group as he turned and surveyed the entire council with one sweeping glance. D'raak knew that he alone opposed this plan from the beginning, and he alone now stood with his back to the holo-display.

"For twenty six millennia, we have known this was coming. And for all of that time, the Great Councils held to one plan for when the day arrived. That plan was the only guidance the Ancient Elders had to protect us."

Behind him, the gigantic hologram dissolved into a high resolution image of a timer. Where the glowing hologram of the Sun had been a moment before, was now a giant set of seven colored rings nested from largest to smallest, like a thick target without crosshair marks. The outside violet ring began sliding slowly away from the twelve o clock position and untraced in a counterclockwise direction. The remainder of the rings were shaded in the rainbow colors of the spectrum of visible light. The next smaller ring inside the violet one was indigo. Then the rings got progressively smaller in the familiar colors of blue, green, yellow and orange. The smallest center ring was bright red. The countdown timer used a logarithmic scale, and each ring moved faster than the one above it. The final ring took only 2.76 seconds to complete rotation and end the timer. The period for each ring to rotate fully around was a multiple of the time it takes for light to travel through a fixed length rod of crystalline carbon diamond, which was their equivalent of the vibrations of a cesium 133 atom used by modern scientists to define a second.

Before the outside ring had moved a distance equivalent to a few seconds of silence, D'raak continued. But the power seemed to leave his voice with the disappearance of the hologram star.

"This action today... is a gamble..."

After the light from the holographic sun faded and the room grew dimmer, D'raak felt tired. Maybe, everyone was right. Maybe, he was too old now. He would be 898 years old at his next counting. He was the oldest of the Elders on the Council. He was actually the oldest Elder ever to be on the Council, though there were a dozen just a few decades younger. Although their lifespans had been extended to almost one thousand years through medical and genetic advancements, those who were already several centuries old by natural age did not retain the same vigor of youth as those born after the advanced treatments were first developed almost seven hundred years ago. D'raak felt a thousand years old at this very moment.

G'raizi stepped toward him again. They had been friends since they were both children and even if they disagreed more often than not, she respected him immensely. Her aquamarine eyes were soft and glowed like crystal under her raven black hair. She stood before him; arms slightly bent with open, forward palms crossed at her midline. Even as large as she was, this posture presented a serene expression that was mirrored in her soft smile. Though her voice carried the same deep tone of all the giants, it was unmistakably female, and her words were characteristically gentle.

"I understand your position D'raak." Her voice exuded calm and resonated like soothing chords from a cello. "But the Council believes _Tokor_ L'roki is right. He is our greatest mind. His advancements have eclipsed anything in the history of our people. We asked him to come up with a better solution. This is his plan."

D'raak suspected it would be one of the others who began the defense of what was happening here. He was surprised that G'raizi took the lead. He spat out his response a little too harshly.

"And yet, L'roki is not here."

Over his shoulder, the second ring began rotating in the opposite, clockwise direction as it began to slowly disappear. But the indigo band was moving at a faster pace than the outside violet ring had traveled.

G'raizi's face smoothed and softened as she smiled at her old friend.

"D'raak, please. You know he is with one of the science teams at the Beta site. He's monitoring the field regeneration." G'raizi moved only her lips. Everything else remained perfectly motionless. Her serene bearing never wavered.

Though still stoic, D'raak was more animated in his reaction.

"Nonetheless, here we are. And I would remind you, my old friend, that L'roki no longer holds the position of _Tokor_. The censure he received from us over those blasted tiny machines and his ranting about immortality cost him his teaching position and title."

Then he spread his arms toward the throng of Elder listeners, the white and tan of his Council robe flowing out from his body like a sheet.

"That was barely a hundred years past. It seems everyone has forgotten. L'roki has swooned every member of this council with his amazing inventions... and now this!" He pointed behind him with his large, muscular arm. "He has manipulated this council as it has never been before."

D'oret, who was the most vocal supporter and the original proponent of L'roki's plan, had been listening from the beginning of D'raak's speech. Now, he stepped forward with the palms of both hands open to the front and his straight arms slightly spread apart to the side, as customary when openly contradicting another Council Elder.

On the timer, the second ring finished and the blue third ring began unrolling around the circle; switching direction to counterclockwise again. But no one was watching the timer any more. Instead, the entire group of Elders were watching and slowly moving closer to the two senior Council members. D'oret bowed his head once, to signify the interruption, before he began.

"But with respect, Elder D'raak, the Council voted on this course of action. L'roki had nothing to do with it. The vote was only opposed by your ballot. We all decided—"

"It is not the decision that I question, Elder D'oret. It is the method by which we reached that decision. We are the Council of Elders. It is our duty to question the wisdom of this action. But we did not do that."

D'oret looked at him with confusion as he returned his hands to inside the sleeves of his robe and dropped his arms by his sides. "We voted. Is that not the correct method by which to reach a decision?"

"But we didn't question the wisdom of this plan, D'oret. Don't you see? We let our fear dictate this decision. This event is so burned into our genetic memory, that we are terrified of its arrival. As the day has gotten closer, we have allowed ourselves to be pushed into this course of action out of fear. After L'roki's dramatic presentation showing those vile computer generated scenes of destruction the Great Event can cause, the council voted out of fear, not knowledge." His voice was booming, now. "It looked so real, our reaction was visceral. Anything that could possibly prevent those images from occurring would have been chosen at that point."

The blue ring on the timer finished unwinding, and the green middle ring began moving faster in the opposite direction. Just then, a deep rumbling hum started coming from beneath the enormous chamber.

Elder G'raizi smiled. "See D'raak, the star-engine has begun. Just as L'roki said it would do. Everything is going to be fine."

In front of the display, D'raak didn't let up. He suddenly felt a sense of urgency.

"We have come a long way since the last storm. We know our pyramids will protect us. Why must we take a chance—"

D'oret interrupted him. "What about the rest of the planet? We cannot continue to ignore the rest of our home."

D'raak could feel the emotion in his voice, but he couldn't stop himself, now.

"Our home is here, not the rest of the lands on this savage planet—"

This time, it was G'raizi who calmly interrupted him.

"The planet is our home... all of it. Have the last thousand years of our remote probing of the Solar system not proven how interconnected we are to the entire planet? Our ancestors have always held that we are part of our precious home. Each part equal to every other part and all pieces of a cherished whole. But our home... this island... is also part of the planet. The time has come for us to change our isolationist nature. We must change our traditions." She looked softly into his eyes. "There are others who live on this planet. They are our distant cousins by the grand code of life. What of them? We have evolved forward while they have not yet begun. The storm will devastate their numbers, just as it always has when the Great Cycle returns. It is wrong to abandon the rest of life here while we hide in our stone pyramids safe on our protected island."

The giant holo-image of the timer finished unwinding the middle green ring, and the next smallest ring started moving counterclockwise. The yellow ring began disappearing at an even faster rate than the one before it.

D'raak glanced at the timer and realized he was running out of time. He suddenly felt a wave of anger roll over him, and he lashed out at his old friend before he could stop himself.

"Those tiny, primitive savages have no interest to me. Maintaining our way of life is of more concern. Don't you see? That was why we censured L'roki when he tried to use those medical nano-bots to prolong our lives indefinitely. It's one thing to use them for medicine, but if everyone lived forever, what would become of the Council of Elders? That technology would have destroyed the very essence of our society."

No one else was talking, now.

D'raak's emotional outburst was without precedent and stopped all of the whispers, which had quietly started back up among the group. Even G'raizi was now wide-eyed and silent, as she stared at the Council Leader with visible shock. D'raak paused to take a deep breath.

Beneath their feet, the hum coming from far below the massive pyramid changed pitch slightly and began to reverberate through the cavernous apex room.

"This star-engine he has created below us... how do we know it will not damage the protective field? If left alone, we know the planet will heal itself in only two hundred years, maybe less. Our people can survive this. We have before. We have no way of knowing if this machine will work."

Above all of their heads, the timer began the orange ring moving clockwise and significantly faster than the last yellow ring.

D'raak could feel himself getting more agitated. He didn't know why, but suddenly he had a very bad feeling; a feeling he had never experienced before. That feeling was dread. Deep beneath the floor, the pervasive hum became louder. As the group of Elders exchanged nervous glances, D'oret tried to respond.

"The computer simulations confirm the device will cause the field to heal almost immediately."

"I don't care what the computer says!"

D'raak's voice boomed across the room like a cannonball. Perspiration was now beading up on the dark cocoa skin of his forehead. He suddenly realized the feeling rolling over him like an ocean was not dread; it was terror. Then his eyes became blurry, and his head started to spin. D'raak tried to inhale, but his breath was caught in his chest. He began gasping for air, and his vision began blurring in waves that were in time with the thrumming in his head.

"Something is wrong... something is terribly wrong." D'raak could barely hear his words over the roaring noise in his mind.

He spun around in time to see the final bright red ring spin around and snap into thin air.

Instantly, a gigantic hologram of the Earth popped into the space where the timer had been. The huge floating globe exploded into color as the massive solar wave hit the magnetic field of the planet and lit up into an aurora.

But the color lasted only a moment.

The holo-image started to waver and then disappeared with a muffled exploding thump just as the humming from below reached a fever pitch. All at once, the entire group of Elders jerked their eyes to the floor as thin white beams of brilliant light emanated up through microscopic seams in the expansive smooth stone like blades of energy slicing up from below. Suddenly, they all grabbed their ears in pain as the throbbing noise jumped another level and the room filled with a blinding white light.

• • •

From orbit, the giant protective shield of the planet continued to burst into color as the enormous cloud of invisible solar radiation impacted the leading edge of the magnetosphere, releasing trillions upon trillions of minute pulses of plasma. As the main body of radiation washed over the planet, the brilliant shimmer of the fantastically bright aurora disintegrated almost instantly; blowing off in a sprinkling haze of light that could only be seen in the shadow of the Earth. When the field was gone, the radiation waves burned their way through the layer cake of atmosphere, destroying virtually every particle they encountered with their high-energy death grip. Microscopic water droplets vaporized instantly, disintegrating clouds from the top down until there were no more.

After it had burned through the clouds, the leading edge of the radiation wave continued down and slammed into the ocean. As if a gigantic blast furnace were sitting inches above the surface, the water molecules exploded from liquid to gas. A layer of steam uniformly rose up like a white cotton blanket growing across the ocean. The image of the smooth white sheet remained clean and unbroken only momentarily, as dead fish began to pop up to the surface causing ripple waves in the white blanket of misty burning water. But the blanket of steam didn't stop the evil light. The radiation sank far into the surface of the water. The crystal azure and emerald green color of the deep blue sea bleached white and clear, as the intense radiation burned everything in its path down to the atomic level.

The foundation of the food-chain of life on this planet, the seas of plankton swarming through the ocean like clouds of grain, were destroyed en masse as the rays reached uniformly into the water. The invisible radiation cut a swath of death through the floating community of small green life like a giant flat blade had reached into the water and simply cut off the top portion of the colony.

Nothing near the surface of the sea survived the direct onslaught of the massive solar outburst. Sanctuary was found only in the deep darkness. All of the whales and dolphins began to gather below the radiation reach line, holding their breath. Predator and prey alike lined-up below the demarcation line of life and death like smooth, wet soldiers in formation on a parade field.

On the land, it was no different.

The first to feel the cleansing fire of sterilizing rays were the continents of the Americas. Clouds disappeared moments before the canopy tops of every tree in the hemisphere began to smolder and brown. Every airborne speck of dust was blasted into ash. Nothing with wings stayed in the air for more time than it took its charred body or ashes to fall to the ground. The entire sunlit side of the planet started to burn in the radiative glow washing over its unprotected and defenseless surface.

On the North American continent under the full brunt of the radiative beating, the snow-capped peaks of every mountain range from Mexico to Canada began to melt, sublimating directly into steam. Shallow bodies of water, like ponds, rivers, and lakes began losing their depth at visually measurable rates. Every creature in these drying pools of liquid life tried to swim as deep as their watery homes would allow. But only the deepest of these transient geologic features would last the five hours this storm would torture the Earth.

The side of the planet facing the Sun became a living hell, and neither water nor snow could keep out the light of death. Only the Earth itself, deep, dark holes and caves, offered a chance at life.

Every creature of every size crowded into these holes, regardless of whomever was lying next to them in the sanctuary of the dark.

And they waited.

But the coming death had only just begun.

• • •

Outside the pyramid of the Council of Elders, everything was burning from the unfiltered solar radiation. The large plazas were empty of anything and anyone, but all of the cities of pyramids were smoking and charring on the outside. Beautiful manicured gardens, many as large as a modern city and spread over the tropical mid-Atlantic island in wondrous abundance, began to wither and smolder in the ultra bright sunshine. A deafening electrical sizzle accompanied the sound of burning foliage.

Suddenly, the ground beneath the pyramid of the Council of Elders, the largest of the dozens of pyramids on the central plateau of the major mountain range, began to rumble and shake like an earthquake. The deep sound changed pitch, and a brilliant white light shot out of every opening in the great pyramid. The light was so strong it seemed solid, even in the bright sunlight from the radiation wave.

Then abruptly, the pyramid exploded into a nuclear fireball 150 miles across.

The entire surface of the island was blasted outward from the enormous explosion followed by the nuclear heatwave. As the fireball spread outward, the ground of the island seemed to fall away into a gigantic hole in the Earth.

Within moments, the island was gone; replaced with a hole of magma glowing red under the blinding white light of the explosion.

• • •

High above the planet, a massive flash of light in the middle of the Atlantic momentarily overshadowed the beating from the cosmic shower. The flash faded almost instantly. The gigantic mushroom cloud growing over the glowing ball of magma sizzling in the Atlantic ocean took a few minutes longer. An epic battle of fundamental forces played out as the nuclear ball of exhaust fought to push up and away, and the solar tsunami tried to push it back down to the sea.

Before this Sumo match of atomic titans could finish, the dark-side of the planet lit up from within.

Almost exactly on the opposite side of the solar onslaught and the mushroom cloud battle, the temporarily protected side of the planet suffered a fate equal to the punishment her hemispheric half-sister was enduring. Massive pressure waves rebounded through the molten core of the earth and pulsed together at a point under the tiny island chain of Indonesia. The mega-volcano caldera under what is now called Toba awoke from its long geologic nap.

Magma shot up and out of the first crack to appear in the massive caldera. The stream of molten earth soared out far past the level of atmospheric layers, which now existed only in the protective shadow of this side of the planet. And then gravity took hold. The ash and rock began to fall out in a circle that reached hundreds of miles in all directions. The sky began to fill with black soot and smoke that was as thick as tar. Poisonous gas and acid rain began to pour out over the Eurasian continent and the vast Pacific ocean.

The radiation storm would last for five horrid hours. But the magnetic field would stay weakened and disrupted for almost 200 years before it regenerated itself fully and began to protect its charges once more. Until then, the Sun would not be a friend to whatever life survived the volcanic explosions and the deadly black blanket now spreading over the Earth. The rotation of the planet would bring Africa around into the path of the solar rays long before the clouds of Earth-made death covered it. But the solar storm would be over before the full, devastating effects of this horrible day reached most of the primitive humans of that continent.

The same would not be true for anything living near the shores of the great oceans. Monster tsunamis as high as two-thousand feet would inundate almost the entire surface of the planet over the next twenty-four hours, washing several hundred miles inland on every continent. The tectonic turbulence on both sides of the planet would keep the oceans producing gigantic waves for weeks.

But at least the waves put out the fires.

Within a week, darkness settled over the planet because of the amount of ash in the atmosphere. Nighttime was pitch black, and full daylight was no brighter than the moon shining through a cloud at night.

The volcanic eruptions continued like exhaust stacks over the Pacific rim for thirty-eight months after that. They created a layer of soot and ash that was miles thick in the atmosphere. The dust and particles reached far up into the stratosphere and striated into an opaque blanket covering the entire globe from pole to pole.

Sunlight was not able to penetrate this insulating blanket for over twenty-five years, and temperatures plummeted into a type of nuclear winter. Almost every living plant died. And the Sun did not shine fully again on the scorched and waterlogged surface of the Earth for forty-two years.

After the Sun returned, the planet entered an ice-age event that lasted for over 50,000 years. It was like a double whammy in extended temperature drops.

Almost everything was pushed to the edge of extinction; including us.

Known today as the _Toba Bottleneck Event,_ only 1,500 to 2,000 individual primitive humans survived the massive solar-shower and the subsequent mega-volcano explosions that occurred in 76,000 BC. Almost all of the individuals that survived the initial event, and all of the ancient humans whose genes continued on to today, were from Africa.

Modern DNA tests have shown that every human living today is related to, and descended from, one of these 1,500 to 2,000 survivors.

That's how close the human species came to extinction.

• • •

Nothing remained of our cousins, the race of giants. Their entire civilization went down with their isolationist island home. The only evidence of their existence is a common legend of giants among all of the ancient civilizations that followed on every continent.

These stories, passed down long before the advent of writing, tell astonishing tales of a group of technologically advanced but mythically peaceful beings from the dawn of humanity, who came and went mysteriously and had the ability to move mountains.

Far older than any other legend, including _Atlantis_ or the _Great Flood,_ this race of giant humans were known only as... the Ancient Ones...

(to be continued in the next book)
PREVIEW FROM THE NEXT BOOK:

The Hole in the Magic Shield - Book 2

T-MINUS: 42 HOURS 4 MINUTES

LOCATION: ABOARD JAY-L'S JET

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2012 AD

LOCAL TIME: 6:02 PM

GLOBAL REFERENCE TIME: 0:02 GMT

"Whaddya think? Should we try to wake him?"

Marissé walked by Jacinto and sat down on the bed then slowly leaned down over Jay-L, who was sprawled out in the back of his custom Gulfstream jet. She gently placed her arms on each side of his head and looked closely at his face. Jacinto and Jim, the helicopter pilot, had managed to get Jay-L into the back stateroom before either of the jet pilots could see he was unconscious when they were on the tarmac in Chichen Itza. Marissé then stowed her bag and the pelican case in the front cabinet while Jacinto had jumped into one of the huge leather chairs in the main cabin. Then Marissé had gone to the bedroom cabin with Jay-L and buckled herself into the seat for takeoff. When Jim got off the plane before takeoff, he told the Captain that his boss retired to the rear cabin with the woman he had come to pick up. That was good enough for the flight crew, and the large private jet was flying down the runway for a quick takeoff shortly after. Jay-L never moved from the same position he was in when they laid him out on the luxury full-sized bed.

As soon as they were in the air, Jacinto jumped up from his seat and was now standing at the doorway to the plush bedroom in the sky. His arms were crossed, and he was shaking his head.

"No way, Boss. It's like they say, 'Let sleeping dogs and babies lie.' Well, it's sleeping billionaires, too."

Marissé looked over at Jacinto with a frown and then she turned back and looked closely at Jay-L's face again. She knew she didn't hit him that hard. But, she'd hit him before. And she knew how easy it was to knock him out. His face almost looked comical. His mouth was slightly open, and his tongue was hanging out to the side just a little bit. If it weren't for his steady breathing, she might have been worried.

• • •

When someone is knocked unconscious, they don't dream. It's just blackness. So when the hollow ringing darkness started to fade from the nerve shock his brain received when Marissé jammed his jaw back into his skull with her fist, the slowly returning light was the first thing Jay-L's brain began to register. It started at the exterior of his completely blackened visual field. Pale orange began to lighten the deep nothingness and slowly the visual cortex of his brain rebooted. Unconsciously, his eyelids started to flutter slightly and lift up, as his eyes began to pull down from their position rolled back in his head.

After the lightness overtook the darkness in Jay-L's eyes, the fixture over the bed was blocked by Marissé's head as she leaned in over him. When his eyes finally came back to life fully, the light coalesced around her head, and blood rushed back into his brain causing sparkles to roll across the image in his eyes. The features of Marissé's face started to form in the middle of a bright stream of light and fireworks going on in Jay-L's head. In his altered conscious state, the image of Marissé was transformed into an angel with a face glowing from a heavenly light. Jay-L's face smoothed into a contented smile, and he was overcome with a sense of calm serenity.

Then he blinked, and the image was gone.

• • •

Jay-L snapped into consciousness with Marissé's face only a foot away from his and backlit by the ceiling light. He was still smiling as she got up and stood beside the bed. When she moved, Jay-L's eyes were hit by the overhead light, and he stared at it for a moment while he blinked a couple more times. Then he slowly looked around the room. Suddenly, his smile dropped. The area between his eyes on his forehead crunched together and his eyebrows bunched up. Then his eyes flew wide open as he remembered landing at Chichen Itza. He jerked his head back to look at Marissé next to his bed.

"You hit me!"

Marissé looked back over to Jacinto standing in the doorway and smiled. "Give us a minute."

Jacinto happily took the hint and pulled the door shut behind him. Marissé looked back at Jay-L, and the smile instantly disappeared from her face.

"You got some 'splaining to do Roosie." Marissé was not happy as she gave him her impression of Ricky Ricardo from the I Love Lucy Show. "My nice tequila buzz is long gone, and I want some answers right now. And if I don't like what I hear, I'm gonna do a lot more than just hit you... Comprendé mi amigo?" Now she pointed her finger right at his face. "What the hell do you mean, we're mar—"

Jay-L interrupted her. "We're NOT married." Then he spilled his beans like a piñata whacked by baseball bat. "I had to give the custom officials a name and a reason along with the customary bribe. That's how I got you out of the country. You were listed as my wife, and Hassi was your brother. I told the officials you came here to visit family, and now you were ready to come home." He almost sounded a little desperate.

Marissé was shocked, and it showed on her face. Slowly it turned into embarrassment. Jay-L's story made sense. And now that she thought about it with a bit more of a clear head, she realized she jumped to a conclusion.

"You... I..." She turned and sat down on the bed beside Jay-L, who was sitting up now. "I'm sorry," she said as she roughly sighed and looked at the closed door to the stateroom. "I thought you..." She let her voice trail off.

Jay-L looked at her, and his demeanor softened. "I know what you thought." He pulled his legs around and slid over to the edge of the bed next to her. His voice subtly changed, too. He looked and sounded like a brother talking to his sister when he continued. "Nobody knows about my personal life, and everyone understands my need for discretion... I do it all the time with girls I'm dating. It's how I'll get you into Miami, too. It was supposed to be a joke. I was going to explain when you popped me." He looked over at her and chuckled. She looked back just in time to see his face soften again.

"I'm really glad to see you Mahddy." Then he reached up and rubbed his chin.

Marissé couldn't help it. She cracked up as she reached out and gave Jay-L a big bearhug. She finally let go and sat back.

"I'm glad to see you, too. I'm sorry again about the chin... I don't know what's come over me. Maybe it's just the excitement."

Jay-L tried to stand up, but his legs wobbled. He quickly got his balance but still weaved a little as he headed over to a cabinet.

"Easy there, Rocky." Marissé watched as Jay-L almost ran into the cabinet he was heading for.

"You know... I thought you got tired of beating me up years ago." He reached into the small cabinet and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. He opened it and poured two out into his hand. Then he wiggled his jaw a little and found that it was really sore. He poured two more aspirin; then two more. He put the cap back on the bottle and returned it to the cabinet. Then he headed over to the bar, opened the mini fridge, and took out a bottle of water. He was still a little wobbly as he opened the water bottle and threw the pills in his mouth. Suddenly, he opened his eyes wide and started to choke before he coughed the six tablets across the cabin like a spit-take in a movie. He stood there for a long comedic moment, then he cracked up laughing.

Marissé was laughing too, as she got up and walked over to him. "Sit down... I'll get you some more." She stepped over the ejected pills on the carpet and walked over to the cabinet with the aspirin bottle. Jay-L plopped down on the bed again.

"Boy, I really fit the 'suave billionaire' stereotype... Huh?"

Marissé walked over to him with a new handful of aspirin in one hand. She held them out for him while he took one at a time and swallowed each with water. After a minute when he was finished, she took her other hand out from behind her back. She held out a copy of People Magazine with Jay-L and some blonde model on the front cover, with a headline that read, 'Suave Billionaire and Most Available Bachelor on the Planet.' The color faded out of Jay-L's face for an instant as he stared in disbelief at the magazine cover. Then his face started to turn pink as his cheeks blushed. Marissé waited for a long beat, then at just the moment he looked up at her from the magazine, she calmly answered him.

"That's exactly what I read in here... But I don't know?"

She looked at him through squinted eyes for another long moment. Then she cracked up laughing.

Jay-L couldn't help it and rolled backward on the bed, howling like a drunk hyena.

Marissé stood next to the bed slowly shaking her head as she watched Jay-L. Then she tucked the magazine under her arm and smiled at him.

"Come on. Let's get out of your bedroom before you start any more rumors."

She walked over to the cabin door and waited as Jay-L composed himself and joined her...

Continue the story in the second exciting novel,

The Hole in the Magic Shield...

Available Now!
SKY FIRE

An Action Science Fiction Series

by Lucian Randolph

Available now at all major online booksellers.

Book One - THE GOD IN THE CLEAR ROCK

Book Two - THE HOLE IN THE MAGIC SHIELD

Book Three - THE EMPTY EGGS OF BURNING LIGHT

Book Four - THE WRATH OF THE INVISIBLE SWORD

Book Five - THE FINAL FIRE OF BRIGHT SKIES

And Coming Soon...

Book Six (the finale) - THE SEED OF THE SUN'S HEART

Find the latest information about Lucian at:

LucianRandolph.com

Or follow Lucian on Twitter:

<https://twitter.com/LucianRandolph>
Dedication

For my loving wife Marie,

without whom

this story would never have been told.

And for Linda,

without whom I would not be.

We never really got to know one another.

But I'm sad you're gone.

Acknowledgements

A book like this is a labor of love. But rarely is it wise to enter labor alone. This story was brought into the world with the help of several literary mid-wives. I'd like to extend my sincere gratitude to Marie, Luc, Kittus, Gilly, Toni, Viv, Randy, Gigi, Charlie, Bruno, Moto, Fergie, Tiny, Shiny, and Baracus. Although several of you reside in only one person's body and some of you are furry, I love each of you and I thank you all. I could not have gotten here without your help.
About the Author

Outside his Entrepreneur and Science work, Lucian is a prolific writer. Professionally, he produces more than one million written words per year. He's also been producing multimedia for public internet distribution since the beginning of the broadband era. He's a recognized pioneer in the podcasting field and was the host of the Planet TV Show, which was one of the original non-commercial science and technology TV shows on the web and one of the first video podcasts in the world. The show was seen in 124 countries worldwide, and at the peak of its popularity, the videos were being downloaded millions of times each month. Lucian has authored numerous technical tomes that are not available to the public, in addition to this science fiction series, SKY FIRE. He says he has to write fiction because he needs to get all the crazy things he's seen and been through in his professional life out of his head; otherwise he'd go insane.

But he admits, that might only be a matter of semantics.
