The Mayan Priest (4 page)

He yelled in fury and stood looking in shock as his blood dripped readily onto the lush green grass between them.

Gillian ran for her life with the knife still firmly encased in her grip. She scrambled frantically up the man-made terraces and ran into the open space left of Temple II. It was here that an unusual sound caught her attention. Initially she was unable to locate the source of the noise, but within a minute or two, a set of fifty foot rotors whipped into view. The two General Electric motors powered the five ton machine through the sky as if it was a featherweight, and Gillian felt a surge of relief at her impending rescue.

The Black Hawk landed sixty feet from where she was standing and a young man adept to jumping from the machine quickly disembarked and ran to Gillian. She keenly followed his instructions and kept her head low whilst running back into the downdraft of the helicopter, stopping only to see Samuel make his escape into the thick jungle nearby. She wondered where he was going, her question answered as a group of tourists came into view. They were excitedly beholding their glorious surroundings, clearly unaware that their vehicle, and only means of leaving Tikal, had been stolen.

Gillian watched from above as the dirty van whizzed hastily from the car park, forcing a billow of dust into the air. She was just about to tell the pilot (whom she recognised as her Dad’s friend Georgio) that the tourists required a replacement vehicle when she heard him on the radio to the La Aurora Airport requesting a substitute taxi. A wry smile crossed her face. Despite his gentle façade, Georgio was highly intelligent. He rarely missed anything and when he saw the speeding car making a getaway, he had put two and two together.

Totally exhausted, Gillian introduced herself to the kind soldier who assisted her onto the Black Hawk.

‘Welcome aboard, ma’am. My name is Tom,’ replied the innocent looking, wide-eyed man who appeared as if he just stepped out of college.

‘Now, if you’d let me, I’d like to take a look at those injuries,’ he said, pointing to her bleeding ankle and removing a first aid kit from a nearby cabinet.

‘Thank you,’ replied Gillian as she sat on the floor and pulled up the leg of her pants to reveal the bruised ankle and deep incisions caused by Samuel’s teeth. She suspected they needed stitches, her thoughts confirmed as Tom prepared a local anaesthetic accompanied by a needle and thread.

‘Don’t worry ma’am. This is my job. I’ve done it many times before,’ said Tom, reading the look of distress on her face.

Gillian was not afraid of needles but did not like seeing them inserted into her skin. She looked away as he repaired her wound and wrapped the ankle for support.

‘You’ll have to rest it for a bit,’ said Tom gently as he left to clean up and attend to his duties.

Gillian knew he was right, but the next twenty-four hours were crucial for Fred and her friends. There was no way she would let her little injury get in her way. She would just have to put up with the pain.

Gillian napped most of the next six hours back to San Antonio. She knew that it would be her only opportunity for rest for some time and she took advantage of it.

The helicopter landed at 1am with no greeting party other than her father.

Dale Bright was approximately five foot ten and of average build. He had a deep set of hazel eyes and a full crop of brown hair that had only just begun to grey. Those who met him would tell you that their first impression of him was unmemorable, but when he spoke they listened. Dale had that rare ability to easily portray his thoughts in a forceful but concise manner that left listeners feeling in awe. He was a powerful man who disliked being defied and always took a matter seriously, only recently developing a sense of humour that was often ill timed or simply not appropriate. This was one of those occasions.

Dale saluted his daughter in a mock welcome as she descended onto the helipad with the aid of Tom’s arm. His attempt to be humorous at 1am after her ordeal was not well received and Gillian frowned.

‘Welcome, daughter. I see Tom’s taken good care of you. He’s a good soldier. You would do well with someone like him instead of that man you’re with,’ the praise bringing a blush to Tom’s cheeks

‘His name is Fred, Dad,’ retorted Gillian, knowing that her father disliked him enough never to refer to him by his name. It was always ‘that man’ or ‘him’.

‘Yes … yes,’ said Dale, brushing off the subject as he put his arm around his daughter’s shoulder and escorted her to his office.

‘Now, tell me about what happened at Tikal,’ asked Dale as he made a coffee for both himself and Gillian who gratefully accepted the soothing beverage, keen for the caffeine it provided.

She required no prompting, quickly reciting the day’s occurrences and earning her father’s undivided attention.

‘Do you have the small jade tile Richard gave you?’ he asked when she had finished. Gillian nodded and retrieved the item from her pocket, noting the look of confusion and curiosity on her father’s face. It was unlike him to show so much attention to a small archaeological object, so she immediately knew another agenda was at play.

‘Don’t try to hide it, Dad. I know that I’ve captured your attention. Perhaps you would care to share thoughts with me?’

‘It’s nothing really,’ he replied, his twitching eye giving Gillian a clear indication that he was lying. Her father had a mild case of astigmatism, so when he was concealing a matter of importance, his eyes would shake. It was a dead giveaway that she found incredibly amusing.

‘Dad!’

‘Okay … perhaps you can help me, but this is classified top secret. I can’t afford for it to get out,’ he replied reluctantly.

She responded by pretending to zip her mouth as he produced a photo of a woman with a tattoo at the base of her neck. Her first reaction was one of shock. The woman was emaciated and her hair was entangled with months of grime, but it was the haunted look in her deep blue eyes that she found chilling. She was also quite young. Perhaps early twenties, but it was hard to tell. She looked as if she had lived many years in her short life and Gillian wondered what sort of trauma would cause a person to seem so sad.

‘Who is she?’ asked Gillian, her father’s lack of response and hardened gaze warning her that he did not wish to answer her question. Gillian did not pursue it.

‘The tattoo is a depiction of the Mayan Calendar Round. This tile is also Mayan and has the word “zip” engraved repeatedly in Medieval Latin. In Mayan, the word “zip” reflects the third month of the Mayan calendar and means “obsidian butterfly, vulture, wise and realistic”. This is reconfirmed by the “zip” hieroglyph in the middle. Although they look different, they are representative of the same thing,’ mused Gillian as she compared the symbols and size.

‘Yes … my thoughts exactly. For many years we have been attempting to infiltrate a tightly held drug ring. We suspect that many high-ranking officials are involved, but we have had little success in tracing them. To date, the only evidence we have been able to uncover that binds the organisation together is this picture. This calendar has turned up on various pieces of evidence we have collected over the years, but it is nothing more than circumstantial. I am hoping that there is a connection here, even if it’s small and I’m grasping at straws,’ said Dale. He continued, ‘It’s for this reason that I would like to help you save your friends and hopefully uncover some more information for my case. I would presume that the next logical step is to locate the obsidian box that Richard Deinhart spoke about.’

‘Yes,’ responded Gillian in surprise. This was more than she could have hoped for. She had expected to do this alone, but the assistance of her father was greatly appreciated. ‘Shall we head off in the morning?’

‘There’s no time like the current. I am eager to get this underway, considering we are unsure of how much time your friends have. Due to the sensitivity of this matter and my ongoing case, I do not want to involve the police. I will, however, send some of my best men to Tikal to check on the wellbeing of your friends and see if there is an alternative way to get them out,’ responded Dale as he helped Gillian off her chair and back to the UH-1 Iroquois helicopter.

‘Are you ready to fly, Georgio? We’ve got an important mission,’ ordered Dale as he prodded his slightly tubby friend, in the hallway.

‘Of course, General. Always ready to fly for you, day or night, hungry or tired.’ Georgio bowed in a mock gesture of respect, his humour bringing a smile to Dale‘s face.

‘It’s only to Houston,’ replied Dale.

‘I know what your “only to Houston” means. It means I’ll be there for hours, but it’s fine as I’m used to waiting around for you. The helicopter’s like a second home to me now.’

‘You’re a good bloke, Georgio,’ said Dale as he patted his friend on the back.

***

After an hour of flying in the dark under the eagle eye of Georgio Catalino, they found themselves safely on the grassy oval of a vacant school. It was less than a street from their destination and the only area in the highly populated suburb where a helicopter could land.

Dale exited first before assisting his daughter. ‘We won’t be long!’ shouted Dale through the din of the rotating helicopter blades.

‘I’ve heard it all before. Don’t worry! I’ll be here when you get back!’ replied Georgio as he switched off the machine and, as cool as a cucumber, lay back and pretended to sleep.

Dale shook his head in amusement. ‘Come on,’ said Dale, encouraging Gillian to increase her pace as they passed through the school gate and into the adjoining street dominated by old freestanding Victorian style homes.

Richard’s home was only 300 feet from the school and during the short walk, Gillian noticed that each house had been meticulously maintained with Richard’s own circa 1820 home recently receiving a new paint job, wrought-iron railings, ornate fretwork and an elaborate garden.

It had been a couple of years since she had been to Richard’s home and she stared nervously at the empty building. It was strange, almost eerie, to be entering his private residence whilst he was in trouble thousands of miles away.

‘Stand aside, Gillian. This is a job for me,’ ordered Dale as he started to attach an explosive device to the white painted wood exterior.

‘Stop!’ commanded Gillian, the urgency in her voice surprising even herself. For one thing, blasting the door was not necessary, and the other was that this door had a sentimental emotion attached to it. As an impressionable young adult she had stood at this very door, fearful of the man everyone called ‘Professor’. Her dread had been so extreme and the nausea so overpowering that she had been unable to move. It was only that he had seen her approach and opened the door that she had entered. The rest was history and other than her father, he was the most influential man in her life.

Dale looked at her in surprise and moved aside as Gillian pressed a hidden spring-loaded cover on the side wall. It opened to reveal a coded keypad instead of the traditional door key. Without hesitation Gillian punched in the date of his first successful dig and was rewarded by a click of the lock.

‘We’re in,’ said Gillian, feeling the need to whisper for which she was unable to find a logical explanation except that she felt as if she was trespassing.

The house was deathly quiet with the only sound being the regular ding of the grandfather clock in the hall. In an automatic reaction, Gillian went to switch on the lights, but her father stopped her.

‘We’re not supposed to be here and I don’t want to promote further suspicion. We have no idea who might be watching us.’

Gillian nodded and directed her father through the foyer and left into the study.

It was extremely dark, lit only by the occasional ray of moonlight that filtered through the thick blue curtains. The heavy ornate oak bookshelves loomed ominously, throwing their bold oppressive shadows onto the striped regal wallpaper. The oak desk sat overwhelmingly to the left of the door.

Gillian had been in this room many times and easily made her way around the two chairs and past the fireplace. She approached a side table below the casement window and paused to look at the gruesome skull of an ancient shark. It was the ideal hiding spot. Quickly placing her hand in the mouth of the long dead fish, she pulled the far right tooth and waited for a moment until the left bookshelf shifted slightly.

Behind the bookshelf was another keypad and this time she pressed the numbers ten and eleven, the sizes of Richard’s uneven feet. Once again she heard an audible click and a false panel masquerading as plasterboard slid sideways into the cavity, revealing a set of stairs that descended into the dark.

Gillian reached in and switched on the light.

In absolute silence, Dale and Gillian descended the two flights of stairs until they arrived at the bottom landing where Gillian moved to the ten cubes fitted into the wall like a child’s game. Each cube was like a six-sided die with an Egyptian hieroglyph on each face. She quickly turned the ones that represented ‘Geb’, the Egyptian earth god, and pressed them into the wall.

‘The security at Sam Houston pales in comparison to this place,’ admired Dale in awe as the steel-plated panel slid sideways to reveal a trove of veritable treasures. It was the culmination of Richard’s life work. ‘Phew,’ whistled Dale in appreciation.

They stepped into the room that looked like a museum with it numerous pedestals and large glass display cabinets. As always, Richard was fastidious. Large racks dominated the right side of the cavernous room and each rack represented a letter of the alphabet. For example, any archaeological items Richard had found in Australia where on the first rack whilst Canada was on the third and so forth. The most precious items of his collection were in individual glass cases that littered the room, each with their own specialised security and alarm system. Richard had left nothing to chance.

Gillian went immediately to the ‘M’ aisle, representing Mexico, and reached for a container that had Teotihuacán written in a black smudge-proof marker on the front. Inside was a box about the size of a biscuit tin, wrapped in bubble wrap. She lifted it out and placed it in a leather carry bag Richard had lying on the nearby examination table positioned against the right wall.