The Mayan Priest (32 page)

Adam took a well-earned rest and sat on a rock, revelling in the slight breeze that whipped past his ears. It was refreshing and stimulated his common sense.

That was it … the breeze. What a fool he was. He half chuckled at his stupidity. The breeze must be coming from an outside source.

With the pain coming in waves, Adam reluctantly straightened his aching joints and stood upright. He felt as if he had aged fifty years and would have given anything for a hot shower, but he had to soldier on if he did not want to die alone in the underground cave.

The first and probably only useful thing he had been able to locate lay at his feet: a thin, wedge-shaped rock. It was sharp enough to allow him to dig and strong enough not to shatter. He jammed it as hard as his arms would allow between the joins and placed the full weight of his body against the protruding portion. He pressed hard, wearing the rock imprint on his skin until he was rewarded with an almost undetectable grating sound.

Excitement coursed through his body and he was spurred on.

The rock had moved and the slight scrape in the dirt confirmed his thoughts.

He pressed harder; surprising himself with the amount of strength he had managed to muster, until the rock suddenly developed a life of its own and slid sideways on a pivot to reveal a soaring but narrow opening.

Adam stared in awe. It was dark and oppressive and in any normal circumstance, he would have turned and run, but he had changed. The turmoils of the last week or so had revealed a side of himself that he did not know existed and he had found an inner strength and integrity that surprised him.

He switched the torch on and stepped without hesitation into the enveloping darkness, pausing only to admire the ancient fissure that had been braced and propped to perfection to create a formidable work of art. .

Despite its obvious age, there was no sign of rising damp, collapse, or desecration from animals. The walls were elaborately painted and notwithstanding the extreme height, the decorations embellished the accumulation of plaster from floor to ceiling.

Adam had no idea how they managed to scale such a distance with less than three feet in width. He was awed by the colour and beauty that ranged from earthly toned hieroglyphics, bright depictions of war and a varying range of vibrant, flamboyant gods.

The darkened tunnel followed a gentle twisting path that worked its way up a gradual incline. If Adam had not been paying particular attention to the height of the walls, he would not have noticed that the distance between the dirt path and the roof had halved, bringing him unexpectedly to a steep flight of steps. The steps were made from thick planks of wood knocked into the old rock fascia and joined together by a thick twine and upright poles that acted as a hand rail.

Adam tentatively tested the first rung, assuring its security, before placing his full weight on the plank and moving up one at the time. His initial hope of a short gradient proved a disappointment as the stairs seemed to climb forever. The song Stairway to Heaven came to mind as his lack of energy and extreme tiredness almost overwhelmed him before he reached a thick, square door sporting three unusual dials that were evidently the ancient version of a combination lock.

Adam sighed. He was too tired for puzzles and collapsed momentarily against the top step to collect his thoughts. He longed to sleep but his mind did not turn off as quickly as his body and he began contemplating how to solve the puzzle.

He turned his head and gazed at the dials.

They each represented a modern-day spinning top with the point as the handle. Around the rim of the knob were ten unpainted, carved hieroglyphs that made no sense to him whatsoever. This was one for Gillian. Where was she when he needed her?

Adam considered his situation. For one thing, he had no idea what this tunnel was or even where it led. Normally he should have investigated the cave further, but the gentle breeze and eagerness to escape meant that he had not explored the remainder of the large room. He wished he had as it may have revealed some clues.

Adam studied the depictions with consideration noting with his limited knowledge that they all appeared to be varying pictures of very ugly men. Boy! Imagine what Gillian would make of his intelligent description (very ugly men). They were advanced works of symbols or gods of hierarchy and he knew she’d be laughing at him.

The thought of laughter and of an open mouth caused Adam to consider the figures more intently. He really had no idea what he was doing and he was quite possibly on the wrong track, but each dial had a figure with a side profile facing left. Perhaps that was it, but on second thoughts, it was probably too simple. Even the Mayans would not go to the effort of installing the locks and have an answer that logical. He chose instead the three figures that represented the elements of the weather (the only deities he actually recognised): the rain god (Chaak), the sun god (K’inich Ajaw) and the wind god (Ik). It was no better than a guess, but what did he have to lose.

The room was a remnant of a time long passed when men believed that sacrifice brought favour from the gods. It was only about twenty feet square but was elaborately adorned from floor to ceiling with the most vivid and graphic depictions of sacrifice Adam had ever seen. He cringed at the images of dying men and women having their hearts torn from their chest cavities, the slitting of throats and numerous decapitated bodies, and it was all done with pride. The artistry was exquisite and painted with a brush so fine that it would have rivalled any of the great European painters. Adam gasped at the obvious brutality of a people who were so skilled yet so barbaric.

He moved with fascination around the room, viewing the glorious stone altar, well-preserved baskets, various sacrificial deities, undamaged vases and fully intact obsidian knives, but it was the human skulls piled ten high on a bench near the far wall that provided a sense of morbid fascination. Adam couldn’t help but wonder who these unfortunate souls were and what their final thoughts were before they died.

He shivered involuntarily as his focus was suddenly alerted to a noise outside the second door of the room.

He paused and listened, instantly recognising Gillian’s voice.

Excitement coursed through his body and he fought the desire to rush and greet her with open arms, held back by an unusual strain in her voice.

Adam was instantly on alert and stood with his hand poised on the inner handle when a malicious forceful growl gave reason for his concern.

It was Caton and he was snarling a set of directives at Gillian. ‘You seem like a smart little bitch, so it’s time to prove your worth and save your friend. Let’s make this simple. If you get the box for me, I will spare both of you. If you fail …’ Caton’s voice drifted off and Adam heard the distinct click of a gun.

He couldn’t believe it. He’d been right about this man all along and here he was, about to open the door to a murderer.

Adam thought quickly. He had two goals to achieve. The first one was to locate the box and obtain the contents before Gillian managed to break the code and let them in. The second was to make himself scarce. If Caton discovered he was still alive, he’d undoubtedly become his third intended victim, robbing him of any opportunity to save his friends.

Hurriedly recalling the picture he had seem for so many years hanging from the wall of his home, Adam tried to evoke any memory that would give him a clue as to a hiding spot, but he was unsuccessful.

He began to panic, resorting to running around in desperation, spurred on by the continual yelling at the door and the fact that it would be only a few minutes before they walked in.

He was desperate and he had to think.

Think … he had to think …

The room had little furniture, but the walls were highly decorative and perfectly able to conceal a hiding spot. Adam scanned the perimeter in a quick but deliberate manner, eventually finding something of interest. Close to him was a tiny self-portrait of a priest. Adam almost laughed out loud. If he was not familiar with Kinix, he would never have picked it. What a cheeky priest he was, standing so high and mighty atop a glittering gold pyramid and pointing to himself.

Adam pressed the pyramid and felt a sense of exhilaration as it moved inward then slid right ways, revealing a small hole at the back. As usual there was a glorious black obsidian box, only this time it had a keypad on the outside.

Without the benefit of any clues from the preceding box, Adam was running out of time. He could hear the knobs click and knew he would be lucky to have sixty seconds in his favour. His mind ran at a million miles an hour as he noted the totally indulgent picture Kinix had painted and he suddenly understood why he had been gesturing to himself. It was his name … the name of Kinix. Adam was not an expert in any ancient language, including Medieval Latin, so he had to presume that it was spelt the same way as it sounded. He simply did not have the luxury to contemplate.

Adam pressed the name ‘Kinix’ and was instantly rewarded with a click.

Luck was still on his side.

He grabbed the inner box and replaced the outer container just as the final pin dropped in the third dial. He heard Georgio roar in anger, swearing loudly in response to an insulting comment Caton had dished out. Adam could understand the pain Georgio must be suffering at the traitorous actions of his former friend and he felt immensely sorry for him.

The door swung open just as the Kinix painting popped nicely back into position and Adam managed to seek refuge in the tunnel through which he had arrived. Thankfully the door had closed quietly, and Adam collapsed in exhaustion.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The thought that Adam had died was incomprehensible almost to the point of unendurable, made worse by the gun that Caton was holding to her head.

Gillian hated Caton, not for the fact that he may murder her at any moment but because he denied her the opportunity to search for her friends. He had dismissed her concerns, stating that it was easier to control two people instead of three and that Adam was of no significance to him. It was simply good luck that he fell.

Fury welled within her, but what could she do? She had a gun to her head and Georgio was bound tightly and positioned against an arrangement of moss covered stones. The situation was helpless, but the fear that Adam might think that she had abandoned him sickened her to the very core. She could not bear the thought of failing him and she knew that if the roles were reversed, he would move heaven and earth to save her. Unfortunately the cold metal pressed into her body left her no choice but to comply – for the moment at least.

Still, despite her resolve, she had that sinking feeling that the quest to unravel the Kinix mystery and save their friends was on the brink of failure. She felt her concentration begin to fail.

Gillian struggled to control the nerves that gushed through her body almost to the point that her knees quivered and she began to develop a throbbing headache. She desperately needed something to allow her to regain focus and the only thing within the vicinity capable of assisting her was Georgio.

She glanced at him and saw a deep strength in his eyes. The immense betrayal he had suffered was expressed by the pucker of his mouth and frown across his brow, but his spirit had not been broken. He was a man who was not familiar with the word ‘failure’ and although he was physically restrained, his fortitude was not. His dark irises flashed at Gillian and she understood that he was encouraging her to be strong and continue what she had started. Giving up was not an option and she took his wisdom to her heart.

She smiled at him and mouthed the words, ‘thank you’.

It was with a much greater tenacity that Gillian moved forward and took control of the situation, forcing the momentum in her favour. She slowed down in direct violation of Caton’s orders, choosing to take her time studying the hieroglyphics depicted on the three knobs. In normal circumstances, she would have unlocked the clues minutes ago, but for some inexplicable reason, she felt obliged to follow her intuition and take her time. Pinpointing the cause of her concern was not possible, but whether it was caused by a sixth sense or an indistinguishable sound, she was determined to stick to her course.

Caton was becoming frustrated by her go-slow attitude and hit the back of her head with his hand, but Gillian gave him a scathing look and ignored him.

‘Move that taut arse of yours or I will ensure your tender flesh is so bruised and bloodied that you will not be able to sit for months,’ Caton snarled.

Gillian refused to give in to his commands, taking a moment longer than necessary to open the door before Caton shoved her roughly into the darkened room. He chuckled maliciously as she fell onto her face and cut her cheek on an exposed stone.

Extreme pain and dizziness overwhelmed her, but it was the unusual marks on the floor that grasped her attention and they took priority over her pain.

The floor was made of an extremely smooth stone that was coated with a thick layer of dust collected over many thousands of years, but instead of being undisturbed as she had expected, there were numerous footprints imbedded in the thick covering. To say she was surprised was an understatement and her mind whirled rapidly as she tried to determine the cause of the peculiarity.

She allowed her eyes to drift along the course the prints took and was able to establish the entry, exit and target point, immediately learning that this room had a false door hidden behind one of its elaborately adorned walls. The prints also ended at an obscure point no more than six feet from her position, heightening her curiosity as to the reason behind that particular location.