Black Rain: A Thriller (17 page)

McCarter got down to business, opening an aged, leather-bound folder stuffed with drawings and notes. He pointed to a group of sketches he’d made. “Remember what I told you about the wooden people and Seven Macaw—that they were a mythological race the Maya believe existed before man?”

“And how the gods destroyed them with a burning rain,” she said. “Yes, I remember all of it.”

“Remember the other glyph you pointed out?”

“Zipacna,” she said. “The Destroyer.”

“Well, much of the writing on this slab concerns the two of them. Seven Macaw, the father, and Zipacna, his son.”

Danielle was surprised. “Zipacna looked like some type of reptile to me.”

“I know,” McCarter said. “He was, sort of. But you have to remember, it’s mythology. Like the Minotaur
and the Kraken in Greek mythology, much of it is mysterious and nonlinear. So even though Seven Macaw was a proto-human, so to speak, his son was this beast, this destroyer, who was usually described as resembling a hideous crocodile, though he walked and lived on the land.”

Danielle listened as McCarter spoke, unsure where this was heading.

McCarter looked over at Susan. “You recognized it before me,” he said. “Why don’t you tell the story.”

She spoke up. “The glyphs on the stone slab describe Zipacna doing the work of his father, terrorizing the peasants and anyone who might challenge Seven Macaw.”

“Everybody needs a henchman once in a while,” Hawker said.

Susan laughed. “In a lot of ways that’s what Zipacna was. In fact, the main story here depicts a group that wanted to topple Seven Macaw, deciding they must first get rid of Zipacna. Tricking him into digging a pit for them and then trying to kill him by dropping a huge log into the hole while he was down there.”

“A pit,” Hawker said. “Like ours?”

“Possibly,” McCarter said. “I believe that the stone in the pit was once on the surface. The land probably built up around it like sand blowing against the side of a house. Even now the top sticks out a bit. And in the story it is more of a narrow well.”

“So what happened to them?” Danielle asked, keeping things on track.

Susan finished the story. “After thinking they’d crushed Zipacna, the group began to celebrate by throwing a big party. While they were getting drunk in
their victory celebration, Zipacna climbed out of the hole and destroyed them all by bringing their house down on them.”

McCarter smiled. “Some think it’s an ancient morality tale, a warning against the dangers of drink.”

“I can understand that,” Hawker said. “I’ve had a few houses come down on me because of the dangers of drink.”

Laughter made its way around the group, then Danielle asked another question. “So that pit may represent the one they dug for Zipacna and perhaps this wall is supposed to be the resting place of the people he killed?”

“I think you’re right about this being a monument to them,” McCarter added. “Some kind of a monument anyway. The place seems to have religious significance but was not a population center.”

Danielle considered his words. They confirmed what she’d feared. They’d found a monument, but no evidence anyone had lived there. And in their search of the surrounding area they’d found no sign of other structures.

“Someone had to build it,” she said. “Can you tell me who, or where they came from? Or are we going to have to work on your definition of ‘good news’?”

McCarter smiled. “Do not despair,” he said. “All is not lost in our quest to make a legitimate hero out of old Blackjack Martin. There are glyphs on the base of the slab that refer to another place, perhaps even a city. A place with stone buildings and great fires.”

She perked up.

He raised a cautioning hand. “Don’t get too excited. It isn’t named, just described.”

“Where? Close to us?”

“If we’re reading the glyphs correctly, it should be two days’ travel from here.”

“Which way?”

“The glyphs define the direction as that of the setting sun on a date, a date the Maya called 8 Imix, 14 Mak, ruled by the Ninth Lord of the Night.”

Hawker shook his head. “I think I have a dentist appointment that day.”

Danielle smacked him on the arm, though she couldn’t contain a brief snicker at the comment. She turned back to McCarter. “Please tell me we know what day that is on our calendar.”

“Well …” he said, “not exactly.”

She exhaled in frustration. “You’re torturing me, Professor. Just give me an answer. Can we get there or not?”

Susan laughed. “This is what he does,” she said. “We call it McCarter Syndrome. It’s like the Socratic Method, only worse. He can take three lectures to answer one question, and by that time you’ve forgotten what you asked.”

McCarter smiled and obliged. “Sorry,” he said. “Old school tradition. The thing is, we’ve been looking for dates on the ruin to place it in the time line with the other Mayan sites. We could only do that if we found one of their Long Count dates.”

The Long Count was the Mayan supercalendar, a cycle of interlocking names and numbers that gave each day a multipart name and number in a sequence that
would not be repeated for over five thousand years. A date in that format could be matched to an exact Gregorian calendar date: day, month and year. It would also allow them to place the ruin exactly where it belonged in the time line and to prove beyond all doubt if the sight predated other Mayan structures.

“Only, we haven’t found any of those,” McCarter said. “But there is another glyph connected with the date glyph on the slab, and this other marking indicates a special occurrence happening on the date. It calls this date the day of the yellow sun. But they’re not using yellow to describe the color; rather, it corresponds to a direction. In the Mayan scheme, each cardinal direction has a color: red for east, black for west, white for north and yellow for south. The day of the yellow sun means the day of the southernmost sun: the Solstice; down here, it’s the longest day of the year. So whatever year it actually was, 8 Imix, 14 Mak occurred on December 21 or December 22.”

Danielle was beaming; finally she had something to grasp. “So we just need a little astronomy work to tell us where the sun would settle on that date.”

“I suppose we’ll need it for accuracy,” he said. “But as luck would have it, it’s only January and we’re so close to the Solstice that I can point us in the rough direction.” He extended his arm toward the western horizon, his palm flat and vertical like a blade. The line of sight ran down his arm and over his thumb to indicate the course. “Right about there,” he said. “Just south of where the sun went down.”

As she looked in that direction, Danielle could feel her heart racing. She had to believe they would find
what they were looking for there. It made sense in every way. A large population center would be more important than an outlying relic. Items of stature would be brought there, or kept there: gold, silver, jewels and possibly crystals like the ones Blackjack Martin had found. One step closer, she thought. “We leave at first light.”

“We should do some cleanup and weather-proofing here first,” McCarter said. “It’s only right.”

“Twenty-four hours,” she granted. “No more.”

He nodded and she turned to Hawker, who seemed less enthused. In fact, he seemed disappointed. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “Aren’t you impressed?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “This is incredible. It’s just … I wanted to hear the rest of the story. What happened to Zipacna? I mean, it couldn’t end like that. Surely someone paid Zipacna back for what he did, right?”

Danielle laughed. “Revenge?”

“Justice,” Hawker said, smiling.

Susan spoke up. “Actually, someone did take care of Zipacna. The same demi-gods who destroyed Seven Macaw.”

“How?” Hawker asked.

This time McCarter replied. “They used a crab to bait him, luring him into a cave. Once he was inside they trapped him underneath it. Sealing him there for all eternity, beneath a mountain of stone.”

W
hile the rest of the team packed up and readied themselves for the journey across land, Danielle sat on the deck of the
Ocana
, using the satlink to report their progress.

To her great joy, Gibbs was unavailable and she’d been connected with the only other person cleared for communication with her: Arnold Moore.

She explained their discovery to him and made a request. “I want to send the rest of the team home. I’ll go on with Verhoven’s group, but we need to get the civilians out of here.”

“Professor McCarter and Ms. Briggs?”

“Yes,” she said. “Along with the porters and Devers and Polaski,” she said, reminding him that they were part of Research Division, not Operations, and didn’t really belong out in the field on an operation of this magnitude.

“Why now?” Moore asked. “Has something happened?”

“I don’t think we need them anymore,” she said. “And yes, there was a small incident the other night
with a pair of natives,” she said, referring to the incursion that had led Hawker and Verhoven into the pit.

“Anyone hurt?”

“No,” she said. “But I have a bad feeling that it won’t be the last we see of them. Besides, we have our trail now. We can follow it and get assistance remotely if we need it for translation or interpretation.”

“Gibbs will never go for that,” he said, telling her something she already knew. “You can’t imagine the paranoia back here. He wants you to stop reporting completely now. Only verbal communication with him or me from here on out. No record.”

They’d been sending bogus “filler” reports for the past month, but now Gibbs didn’t even want that. He seemed to be coming unglued.

“Why?” she asked.

“He’s become convinced that someone took out Dixon’s team and he’s on a mole hunt to find out how the info got out. He’s worried that any type of disclosure could endanger you.”

“All the more reason to get these people out of here,” she said, exasperated.

Silence followed for a moment.

“You know I agree with you,” Moore said finally. “But it’s not going to happen, so we have to stop talking about it.”

Danielle listened to the meaning behind the words. Even in the somewhat distorted pitch that the satellite and the encryption technology caused, Moore’s point was clear: Worry about what you can control, not what you can’t.

“I know this is difficult,” he added. “But the best
thing you can do for them is to keep moving at top speed. The sooner you have a confirmed location, the sooner Gibbs will let you pull them.”

In her heart she knew that. She’d hoped the trail would be enough, but things often worked backward in Gibbs’ mind. The closer they got to success, the more he would push the boundaries, and the more he would risk to close the deal. She would go forward and one of two things would happen. They would find something strong enough to make Gibbs pull the civilians. Or the overdue rains would finally come back to the Amazon and the whole group would have to leave as torrential downpours flooded the forest.

“Fine,” she said. “Then tell him we’re moving. I’ll contact you in twenty-four hours.”

“Affirmed,” he said, then added, “And Danielle, watch your back. And your front and both sides. Gibbs is paranoid, but it doesn’t mean he’s wrong. So be careful. I don’t want you disappearing on me.”

She smiled at his concern, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Hawker approaching. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

She terminated the link and began to shut down and pack up the system as Hawker walked up.

“Everyone’s ready,” he said.

They’d come to a temporary parting of the ways. Hawker would reboard the
Ocana
and sail downriver back to Manaus, while the rest of the group moved westward on foot in the direction indicated by the glyphs they’d found. Upon discovering any sign of the expected Mayan outpost, they would contact Hawker
and cut a landing zone out of the forest so that he could fly in the heavier equipment and bulk supplies that were too cumbersome to carry.

“Good.”

He studied her. “You seem a little upset. You’re going to miss me, aren’t you?”

She laughed. “That’s debatable,” she said. “But I
am
worried about being extended this far out. You’re our only link back now. So don’t fall in a hole or anything.”

As he laughed, she broke into a broad grin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d joked with someone so easily. “I’ll contact you as soon as we’ve found the site. Be ready to bring in the equipment I listed.”

“Your defense system,” he said.

“And the dogs Verhoven wants,” she replied, pulling her pack on.

“Right,” he said. “I’m really looking forward to a helicopter filled with barking mutts.”

Behind them the
Ocana’s
big diesel rumbled to life. The captain whistled to Hawker, who nodded and then turned back to Danielle. He reached out and straightened her pack, adjusting one of the straps like a parent sending a child off to school. She slapped his hand away and then stepped down the makeshift gangplank to join the rest of the group.

Ten minutes later the
Ocana
was out of sight and Danielle and her people were moving deeper into the forest. As they left the river behind, any semblance of a fresh breeze vanished and the air took on the feeling of
a sauna, stifling and motionless and growing hotter with each passing hour.

The rains had held off so far, with the weather pattern influenced by the forming El Niño. For the most part that had been a blessing, but after two weeks without a hint of shade, a quick, cool shower would have been welcome relief.

Despite the conditions, the group made good time, traveling through the twilight beneath the canopy, surrounded by towering shapes of impossibly large trees. McCarter in particular seemed to have a new spring in his step, and Danielle watched as he pointed out things on the way, particular plants and bright orchids, and trees dying in the twisted embrace of the strangler fig.

Danielle tried to ignore him. She was thinking of the bigger picture, prodded on by Moore’s faith in her, the desire to prove herself to Gibbs and her own need to finish what she started. But there was more to it than that. If she was right, they were closing in on the source of the crystals Martin had found years ago, crystals that seemed to be capable of creating energy from cold fusion.