01-01-00 (37 page)

Sunlight assaulted his eyes, stinging them, flaring his headache. Squinting, using a palm to shield his eyes, Ishiguro realized that he had indeed been taken in by a native tribe. There were a dozen similar limestone shacks with hatched roofs scattered around a small clearing, mostly shielded by ceibas, mahoganies, and rubber trees, creating jagged patches of sunlight across the entire village. Children dressed in short skirts played with a black ball while two dozen women, wearing either loincloths or just short skirts, breasts exposed, worked near a small fire twenty feet to his left. A small stream flowed in from the jungle, sectioning the village in half, and disappearing back into the woods. He saw no men anywhere.

One of the women turned in his direction. She was of light olive complexion, very muscular, and with dark hair dropping to the middle of her back. In fact, after another inspection of the group, he decided that all of the women were athletically built, with particularly strong legs.

The woman began to walk in his direction. The muscles on her legs pumped against the skin with every step. Her face didn't look like that of a typical native. Her nose had some resemblance to the flat and wide noses typical of the region, but hers was thinner and smaller. Her lips, although cracked and dry, were full, and her eyes … they were not green or hazel, but light gray, crowning her high cheekbones. She was definitely the product of generations of European and native Indian interbreeding. The woman carried an infant strapped to her loincloth. The baby was sleeping.

She came up to him, took his right hand, and guided him to a shack at the other side of the clearing, motioning for Ishiguro to go inside.

The interior was murky. A dirt floor, a tripod with a hanging clay pot, and a single bed. Blinking to adjust his eyes, Ishiguro saw Jackie lying on her back, eyes closed.

His stomach knotting, he rushed to her side, sitting in bed, noticing the large lump on her forehead, feeling for a pulse, exhaling in relief when he found one.

He inspected the nasty bruise right above her left eye, also noticing the clay pot filled with water and a white cotton rag next to it. The astrophysicist immersed the cloth in the water, soaking it, then wringing it before applying it to her forehead. She stirred and moaned. He repeated the process many times for the next thirty minutes. At one point in time she opened her eyes but quickly fell unconscious again.

Ishiguro forgot all about the mission, the celestial signal, the strong possibility of an extraterrestrial contact. At that moment, sitting on a straw bed inside a stone shack in the middle of nowhere, his thoughts focused on Jackie, realizing that she was indeed the most important thing in the world to him. Nothing like being threatened with the possibility of losing her for Ishiguro to put things in the right perspective. And so he cleaned her face, her neck, her forearms, her dirty hands, feeling frustrated that he could do nothing more for her, wishing that she had stayed behind, back in Cerro Tolo, safe within the protective walls of the observatory.

Just then he felt a presence behind him.

In the twilight of the room, Ishiguro stared at a thin but very muscular native dressed in a dark skirt. His shoulder-length hair was tied in a ponytail. There was an air of confidence, intelligence, and lack of curiosity in his dark eyes, encased in purplish sockets.

The man stopped a few feet from Ishiguro. “What are you doing in this land?”

Ishiguro was momentarily surprised. “You … you speak English … quite well.” He detected a mix of Spanish and British accents.

“Please answer my question.”

“My wife … she needs help. I need to find a—”

“This land belongs to my people,” the stranger interrupted. “Strangers are
not
welcome. The people of your world kill just to kill. The people of my world only kill to eat. I saw the attack on the soldiers, the way they are now desecrating the temple of Kinich Ahau. So I ask you again, what are you doing here?”

Ishiguro narrowed his eyes. “Temple of Kini … Soldiers? I—I don't understand.”

“Tell me what you are doing here.”

Ishiguro looked at Jackie before returning his attention to the native, realizing he had some explaining to do before he would be in a position to ask anything. He decided that honesty was his best alternative. After all, he had done nothing wrong. He even had the papers from the Guatemalan government providing him access to this region to conduct his work. But, should he be
truly
honest? Should he stick to his story of seismic research? He frowned, realizing how silly that sounded in light of the recent events. And who had tried to kill them? Why were there soldiers at this temple? Why was there a temple in the first place? Ishiguro took a chance and opted for the real truth.

“I'm a scientist, an astronomer.” He watched the native's face closely, looking for a reaction.

“The study of the heavens,” the half-naked man said. “My people have also studied the heavens. Go on.”

The comment caught Ishiguro by surprise. Perhaps he should have brushed up on the findings of the ancient Maya on his way here, but at the time he had been too concerned about the scientific aspect of the celestial contact.

He spoke slowly, with moderation, always pausing to make sure that the native understood everything that he had said. He mentioned his findings at Cerro Tolo, the signal from outer space, its synchronization to this global event that froze computer systems, the satellite triangulation that pointed to the coordinates in the jungle. When he finished, the native appeared perplexed. Although Ishiguro had made a good effort at keeping his explanation as simple as possible, he sensed that he may have lost the English-speaking native somewhere along the way.

“Where is the origin of this signal?” he asked.

Ishiguro raised his brows at the question. “You mean, you want to know
exactly
where the signal came from?”

“That is correct,” he replied in the accent that Ishiguro found intriguing, almost surreal, considering the haggard appearance of this half-naked man and the primitive surroundings.

“I … well, yes. I could show you if I had a map of the cosmos.”

“You need a chart of the heavens?”

The Japanese astrophysicist nodded.

“Wait here.” The Maya left. Two similarly dressed men took his place, regarding him with poker stares.

Perplexed by the unexpected conversation, Ishiguro exhaled heavily before going back to tending Jackie, still unconscious. This time, as he softly rubbed the damp rag over her head, she opened her eyes, staring at nothing in particular, just gazing, finally shifting them to him.

“Hi there,” he said, smiling, a sense of relief washing down his anxiety.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“Don't try to talk,” he said. “Nod if you can understand me.”

She did.

“You've got a nasty bruise over your left eye, probably from the fall back in the jungle. Do you remember that.”

She nodded, also adding a barely audible, “Ye—yes,” followed by, “Where?”

He told her, spending five minutes explaining their situation. By the time he had finished, Jackie had gained enough strength to sit up.

“Strange … very weird,” she said.

“You're telling me.” He put a hand to her china-doll face. “You had me worried. For a moment there…”

“You won't be getting rid of me
that
easily,” she replied, half smiling, closing her eyes. “My head…”

“Welcome to the club,” he said. “When they return I'm going to beg them access to our stuff. I brought some painkillers.”

“What do you think is going to happen to us?”

“Not sure. They seem reasonable. I think as long as we stick to the truth we should be fine.”

The haggard Maya returned, along with three elder men dressed in colorful loincloths. He blinked twice at their deformed skulls, alienlike, as well as their prominent brows, reminding him of the drawings he'd seen of cavemen in some book long ago. All were completely bald, their elongated heads glistening in the wan light filtering through the shack's entryway. Several earrings adorned one of them, along with the tattoo of a jaguarlike figure on his left forearm. The second man had tattoos in the shape of bands around his upper arms. A third man had a colorful bird painted on his left shoulder. Behind them stood the same woman who had taken him here, the infant still strapped to her loincloth. She held what appeared to be a rolled-up yellowish poster.

Ishiguro remained seated, next to Jackie. “This is my wife,” he said. “She is also a scientist.”

Joao nodded, turning to one of the elders and saying something incomprehensible. The women yielded the poster to the alienlike Maya, who unrolled it and handed it to the rugged native. He set it at the foot of the straw bed.

“Where?”

Ishiguro and Jackie looked at the drawing, at one another, and back at the drawing.

“Incredible,” she said.

Ishiguro was at a loss for words. The map depicted the northern sky surrounding the southern constellation Centaur, drawn with amazing detail, including systems not visible with the naked eye. “Do you own telescopes?”

The Maya shook his head.

“Then how did you do this?”

“We have other means for recording the sky. Where is the origin of this signal?”

Jackie stretched her arm, her index finger pointing at the lower right side of the constellation. “Right
here.
”

Ishiguro nodded.

The Maya turned to the elders.

“Hunab Ku,” the one with the earrings mumbled, eyes opening wide in obvious surprise.

“Kuxan Suum,” replied the priest with the banded tattoos.

“What's going on?” asked Ishiguro.

The elders added more incomprehensible phrases before the woman stepped forward, rolled up the papyruslike astronomical chart, and followed the elders out of the shack.

“What was that all—” Jackie began.

“I am Joao Peixoto,” the native interrupted. “This is my tribe. Those were the high priests. I am charged with their protection. The temple of Kinich Ahau is sacred, untouched by outsiders until a few days ago, when an English-speaking team arrived and set up a camp at the site. Then a second group arrived, killing most of the members of the first team, as well as yours.”

“Why?” Ishiguro asked.

“I hoped you would be able to tell me that.”

Ishiguro frowned. “How did we escape? All I remember is falling down some hole.”

“A hunting trap,” he explained. “You were lucky. No one else survived, aside from the long-haired man and his woman at the site.”

Ishiguro was now utterly confused. Joao must have noticed this because he explained everything that had happened during the shooting, as he recalled it.

“Seems like others have detected this signal as well,” observed Jackie, looking more and more alive, eyes alert. She managed to stand.

“And they want to keep it a secret bad enough to kill for it,” said Ishiguro, also standing.

“What about the first team? The one with the surviving couple?” she asked.

“Probably a competing party who got there first but wasn't able to defend itself.”

Ishiguro turned back to Joao, standing in the center of the murky interior. “What was the significance of the origin of the signal on your astronomical chart?”

“It came from the Hunab Ku.”

“One of the priests mentioned those words,” Jackie said. “What do they mean?”

“The center of the universe, from where all things come.”

The two scientists exchanged a puzzled glance. “What do you know about these daily events I've mentioned?” Ishiguro asked.

He shrugged. “The high priests claim that our ancestors are sending us a message.”

“For what reason?”

“They have not said. I do not believe they know for certain.”

Ishiguro saw this as a perfect opportunity. “Perhaps we can help you figure it out.”

“How?”

“That was our mission,” he said. “To capture this signal from the heavens in the hope of deciphering its meaning. We brought some equipment to accomplish this task. If we can set it up at this site before the next event, we'll be able to tune into the message. Of course, there is the problem with the soldiers.”

Joao nodded, looking in the distance, his eyes suddenly glistening with anger. “You will be allowed to access your equipment.”

Ishiguro felt like pressing his luck. “What about getting to the site? We need to be close enough in order for our equipment to pick up the message.”

“I will discuss this with the high priests.” He turned to leave.

“Joao?”

The Mayan warrior stopped.

“How did you learn English?”

“From British missionaries in Belize. Many years ago.”

“Thanks for saving our lives,” said Jackie. “My husband and I are very grateful.”

He nodded once and left.

3

Antonio Strokk listened with forced patience to one of his subordinates as he told him about the broken branches leading deep into the jungle, toward the river.

“Get a search party together. Take five … no, seven men. I want all survivors found and shot on the spot. I want no witnesses. Understood?”

“Yes.”

His subordinate gone, Strokk approached his sister, sitting by the steps of the temple admiring a pear-size piece of jade shaped like a heart.

“Quite exquisite,” she said, breathing on it before rubbing it against her jeans. “Especially for a bunch of savages.”

“Where are our two guests?” Strokk asked.

Celina extended a thumb toward the temple's entrance. “In there, for the past hour.”

“Is Petroff with them?”

She nodded, setting the jade down and picking up a mask made of gold, another artifact dislodged from one of the statues. “How much do you think something like this is worth?”