The Maya Codex (48 page)

They both looked at Arana. ‘If it’s meant to be, it will be,’ he said calmly. ‘When will you dive?’

O’Connor looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly 11 p.m. now, and we’ve had a very long day. From a safety point of view, we’ll be more alert after a few hours’ sleep, not to mention a little more acclimatised to the altitude.’

52

LAKE ATITLÁN, GUATEMALA

F
idel was waiting as O’Connor and Aleta, already in their wetsuits, walked down the dirt path to the jetty. The lake was like glass, the faint pink of dawn caressing the lake’s three sentinel volcanoes.

Across the lake, Sanders put down his night-vision binoculars and went inside to wake his partner. It was time to move.

O’Connor and Aleta made a slow and deliberate final check of the gear: cylinders, both stages of the regulators, tank-pressure gauges, depth gauges, compasses, BCDs – the buoyancy compensation devices – safety reels, weights, wrist dive computers, torches and dive lights. O’Connor checked the fastenings on the dive knife above Aleta’s booties and made a final check of his own.

Fidel eased the
lancha
away from the jetty and under O’Connor’s instruction, motored out to a point about fifty metres off the small promontory that jutted out into the lake. O’Connor took bearings on each of the three volcanoes and mentally calculated the backbearings.

‘Another ten metres, Fidel,’ he directed, pointing north-west. It took nearly ten minutes of manoeuvring and adjustment until O’Connor felt they were over the spot indicated on the map.

‘Keep the volcanoes on these two lines,’ O’Connor said, indicating directions to two prominent buildings on the far shores of the lake. He turned to Aleta. ‘Ready?’

Aleta nodded.

They sat on the gunwale and adjusted the straps on their big yellow fins. Aleta returned O’Connor’s ‘O’, her thumb and forefinger together, the rest of her fingers pointed upwards: the diver’s universal ‘I’m okay/are you okay?’ O’Connor put his regulator in his mouth, kept one hand over his mask, clamped the trailing hoses to his chest with the other, and rolled backwards into the lake. Out of habit, Aleta checked that the lake was clear behind her then followed O’Connor into the cold dark water. They both surfaced, and O’Connor gave the thumbs down signal to descend. Aleta raised her BCD hose, pressed the deflation button and followed O’Connor into the depths. Three metres below the surface, O’Connor stopped for a ‘bubble check’. He looked for any signs of leaks on Aleta’s gear and Aleta returned the favour.

O’Connor probed the depths with his powerful torch beam, looking for signs of the promontory. Lake Atitlán was close to 5000 feet above sea level and more than 300 metres deep. He had ensured the necessary altitude and freshwater adjustments were programed into both their wrist dive computers, but a high-altitude dive meant the atmospheric pressure was lower than at sea level: there would be a greater reduction in pressure when they surfaced. The distance to the nearest decompression chamber didn’t bear thinking about.

The water was very clear and O’Connor continued to search with his torch as they descended. The promontory had dropped away sharply, forming an underwater cliff-face, but at a gauge reading of fifteen metres, O’Connor was relieved to see that it had levelled out into a plateau. He and Aleta touched bottom and a large black crab scuttled away, leaving puffs of grey volcanic dust in its wake. O’Connor unhooked a long white nylon rope from his weight belt and, holding one end, gave the rest of it to Aleta to anchor on the floor of the lake. She gave him the ‘O’, and he swam out until Aleta held it fast at the five-metre mark. O’Connor began to swim in a circle in the classic ‘rope search’. The beams of their torches pierced the darkness, producing an eerie underwater kaleidoscope, and illuminating a grey stony bottom. Clear patches gave way to underwater plants and gossamer-like seaweed. Occasionally a large bass would be caught in the light.

The first 360-degree traverse revealed nothing of interest, and O’Connor tugged on the rope for Aleta to let it out another five metres. He swam another circle, and another. On the lake side, the promontory dropped away further, and on the next pass O’Connor’s gauge was showing twenty metres; but he kept swimming, slowly searching the bottom with his powerful torch. As he came back towards the promontory, the bottom began to slope up again to eighteen metres, and then sixteen metres, when suddenly he saw it. The entrance to the underwater cave was a small but unmistakeable ‘squeeze’. O’Connor inspected the broken plants at the entrance. It was hard to tell just how long ago, but the entrance had definitely been disturbed.

At the jetty at San Pedro, the CIA mercenaries were checking their gear.

O’Connor gave three short tugs on the rope, signalling Aleta to join him. He pointed to the entrance, recoiled the rope and hooked it to his belt. Once they had negotiated the squeeze, it opened into a wide cavernous passageway. Aleta looked around her in amazement. The grey stony bottom had given way to stalagmites, some of which had joined stalactites to form underwater columns. It was as if they had entered an underwater city. A little further on, a volcanic shelf appeared, and O’Connor gave the thumbs up to surface. At the six-metre mark, he called a halt and they waited for a three-minute safety stop before rising to the top.

‘Can you believe this?’ Aleta exclaimed. Her voice echoed in the huge underwater chamber. O’Connor looked around. Over millions of years, well before the chamber had flooded, fresh water had cascaded and dripped from the cavities above. The water held vast quantities of dissolved limestone and volcanic dust, and the calcite had gradually precipitated into brilliantly coloured geological formations in deep reds, purples, blues, ochres and yellows. Above them, glow-worms had attached themselves to the roof. Hundreds of sticky beaded strands, which the glow-worms manufactured from their mouth glands, formed a shimmering but deadly curtain for any insect attracted by the light show. Once an insect became enmeshed in the deathtrap, the glow-worm simply pulled in the long silvery-blue line and ate its prey alive.

O’Connor hauled himself onto the limestone shelf and helped Aleta out of the water. They divested themselves of their tanks and fins and began to explore. The shelf stretched for a hundred metres before sloping down again into the crystal-clear waters of the cave.

‘I wonder how far this goes?’

O’Connor shrugged. ‘Some of these caves go a long way; there’s one across the border in Mexico that’s over 150 kilometres long.’

‘Gives a lot of scope for hiding things. Does the line on the map make any sense?’

O’Connor steadied his wrist compass and searched the walls with his torch. Suddenly he stopped.

‘Look! Up there!’ he exclaimed, flashing his torch two metres above Aleta’s head. ‘Without the map, you’d never know it, but there’s another ledge.’ He gained a foothold on the limestone wall and levered himself up to the smaller ledge, at the end of which was an entrance to a much smaller cave. O’Connor eased his way through the narrow opening to discover another colony of glow-worms, their lethal curtain glimmering at the far end of the cave. He played his torch over the rough limestone floor. On one side of the cave four metal ingots, each indented with the eagle and swastika of the Third Reich, glinted in the light beam.

Aleta squeezed into the cave beside him and gasped.

‘Some of von Heißen’s ill-gotten gains,’ O’Connor said grimly, knowing the probable origin would have been the gold fillings of thousands of Jews.

‘Why would he have left them here? Maybe there wasn’t enough time to get them out.’

‘That’d be my guess, along with there not being enough space in his truck for the trunks in the ceiling. As for the gold, each of these ingots weighs around 400 ounces, which on today’s market is worth over US$400 000. We’re looking at about one and half million dollars worth here, so God knows how much he’s got away with.’ O’Connor shone his torch around the rest of the cave. ‘No sign of the figurine.’

‘Do you think he might have found it down here?’

‘I suspect not. Von Heißen was a meticulous diary keeper. The last entry in the final diary was dated the day before he left, and there’s no mention of it.’ O’Connor ran his torch back and forth over the limestone, but after ten minutes’ searching there was still no clue as to where the figurine might be hidden. Finally he aimed his torch beam at the far corner, towards the ‘curtain of death’.

‘There, on the floor, just in front of the glow-worms!’ Aleta tugged at O’Connor’s wetsuit. ‘There’s a faint outline of a nautilus conch shell! Do you remember my grandfather’s notes?’

‘The Fibonacci sequence … look for Φ.’

‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, realising that the outline in the limestone was not only sacred to many civilisations and religions, but that the spiral of the shell grew in accordance with the Fibonacci sequence.

The High Priest’s words resonated with the icon on the cave floor.
One who is amongst us now will return to unlock the secret, but if they are to be successful, they will need to find the sequence of numbers that is at the base of the universe itself. That sequence contains a common number from which a subtraction of one will give its reciprocal, and to which the addition of one will give its square
. Phi and the Fibonacci sequence represented the golden mean, which was at the base of the universe. Aleta knew well that if you divided any number in the sequence by its predecessor, the result was always 1.618. If you subtracted one, you got 0.618, which was the reciprocal, or 1/1.618; and if you added one, then the resultant 2.618 was the square of 1.618.

‘We haven’t got time to go in to it now,’ she said, kneeling and using her knife to carefully scrape away the limestone that had accumulated over the sacred icon, ‘but while you were crawling around Jennings’ ceiling, José subjected me to some regression therapy. For the Maya, the conch shell opened a portal to their ancestors.’ Her pulse began to race as O’Connor joined her, and their scraping revealed a rectangle that formed a border around the shell.

Outside the cave, Crawford and Sanders had reached the grey stony bed of the lake. Fidel’s boat drifted aimlessly above them. Crawford spotted the rope first and signalled. He pointed to his eyes and then to the rope. Both divers followed the rope towards the cave’s underwater entrance.

53

GAKONA, ALASKA

T
he wind was still howling up the Copper River Valley, buffeting the control station at Gakona, but for Dr Tyler Jackson, alarm bells were ringing over what was about to unfold, and he didn’t notice. Howard Wiley had arrived on a flying visit for a briefing. The satellite image on the screen was marked
TOP SECRET
, pinpointing the location of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard base at Fordo near Qom, one of Iran’s holiest cities and a major seat of Islamic academic endeavour.

‘As you’re aware,’ Gakona’s director, Dr Nathaniel B. Hershey, began, ‘for some time we’ve suspected the Iranians have been constructing a nuclear facility deep within the mountains near Qom. The infra-red satellite imagery has not been able to penetrate the solid rocks, nor is it likely that our conventional weapons will be able to inflict any significant damage.’ Hershey flashed up a diagram that showed the intended path of the extremely high-energy but low-frequency radio waves HAARP was capable of generating.

‘The second experiment in the Operation Aether series will beam three billion watts of energy directly into the suspected Iranian complex. If all goes well, anything inside the mountain will be destroyed. H-hour for the transmission burst will be in three days from now, at 0300 hours, our time. That’s 1530 hours Iranian local time, when the maximum number of workers will be on duty.’ Hershey went on to explain the details of the impact of the high-energy heat burst. He paused at the end of his briefing to allow questions. Jackson seized his chance, determined to sound one last warning.

‘There is, of course, a risk with this experiment,’ he began. A look of thunder appeared on Hershey’s square rugged face. ‘Deep-earth tomography has never been tried on this scale before, and the results are therefore unknown. It’s not inconceivable that this massive burst of energy may upset the earth’s rotational spin. The earthquake off Sumatra that caused the devastating tsunamis in 2004 measured 9 on the Richter scale, and we have incontrovertible evidence that it increased the earth’s wobble, moving the poles by several centimetres. Three billion watts of energy may have an even more devastating effect than a natural earthquake.’

‘That is pure conjecture, Dr Jackson,’ Hershey responded icily.

Wiley turned in his seat and glared at the senior CIA scientist. ‘Isn’t that why we do experiments, Dr Jackson? To see if they work?’

‘We should learn from history, sir. In 1954, as you know, we detonated the first hydrogen bomb on the Bikini Atoll. The experiment Castle Bravo was expected to yield four megatons. Castle Bravo yielded nearly four times that, devastating the population, vaporising the test island, and leaving a mile-wide crater on the lagoon floor. The radioactive fallout reached as far as Australia, India and Japan. We’re in a similar situation with Operation Aether: we don’t
know
what might happen here. Worse still, we’re moving towards a once-in-26 000-year planetary alignment, which culminates in December 2012, when the Maya predicted the earth would be exposed to the power of a massive black hole at the centre of the Milky Way galaxy. We should at least postpone the launch of the missile and the ELF beam until after 2012, when the earth will most likely be in a more stable orbit.’