It’s funny how things change in the matter of a few months. I went from being a single and desperate, pathetic, excuse of a man, to being in a healthy, stable relationship with a real-life Lara Croft. Nicole is the toughest person I know—not in a physical way—even though she can seriously put you in a hurt locker if she wanted. But mentally, she’s a rock.

  Nicole was even married once, but her husband was killed a little over five years ago in Spain. He was my father’s project leader at the time, and the entire team was murdered by a rogue group who would be later identified by Kane as Zero. They are the same group of bastards that tried to kill Dad and me on several occasions already.

  Nicole was shot and left for dead, but incredibly survived and took her late husband’s place running things. The mental scarring is still fresh on occasions, but the physical scarring— like the bullet wound in between her left breast and shoulder—is healed and stronger than ever.

  Feeling like myself again, I open my eyes and see two sets of pupils staring back at me. I nod to my friends and continue forward, following Veruca.

  * * *

  They watched their targets from the wooded border of the park, peering through various forms of night vision capable equipment supplied to them by their handler.

  For the most part, they all carried the same weapons, primarily the Soviet-made AK47. While not the best weapon to choose from, the Kalashnikov was relatively cheap to find, and ammo was easy enough to hunt down. It’s commonality and reliability was the main reason that it was the most widely used weapon in all the world’s various militias and private armies.

  Like ours, Raven thought.

  She and the eleven other members of Broadsword’s FireTeam-1 waited in an unlit corner of the courtyard. They watched as Hank Boyd and his team approached the Mayan pyramid, completely unaware of her group’s presence.

  Raven looked through the green tint of her night vision device and confirmed her findings, “Wolf, this is Raven, over. You read me?”

  After a few seconds delay, “Yes, Sara I hear you just fine. What do you have for me?”

  Raven had become annoyed with Frost’s nonchalant approach to everything, especially during an operation like this. The man had no professionalism left in his scarred, deformed body.

  She continued, “We have six tangos, over. Boyd, the blonde, the big man, and three employees of the park—two of which are armed.”

  “And the third?” Frost asked. “The other local, who is it?”

  “It seems to be a tour guide—a woman—harmless for sure, over.”

  “Sara,” Frost said, his tone sharp. “There are to be no survivors. Is that clear?”

  Raven looked down at her weapon contemplating her answer. She had never defied her Operations Leader before, but killing an innocent like this just didn’t seem right. The others were armed for sure, but this woman had no chance.

  Still, she had her orders, and she liked her paycheck. “Yes, sir. Proceeding in 3…2…” Refocusing her attention to the figure in her sights, “...1.” She pulled the trigger.

  11

  The Smithsonian Castle

  Washington, D.C.

  “Benjamin, my friend, please come in. It’s been too long.” Dr. William Boyd embraced his longtime colleague and close friend in a hug. After one last squeeze, he let him go, patting his shoulder.

  “Have a seat,” Boyd said, ushering the other man to sit in one of the plush chairs in his office. “Drink?”

  “Still going with Johnnie Walker Black I see,” the man commented watching the Smithsonian Curator pour them both a healthy-sized glass of scotch.

  “Yes, only this is Double Black, a limited edition. I tried it at a tasting and ended up buying a case,” Boyd said with a laugh, pouring the rich, dark liquid into twin iced glasses.

  The other man accepted the drink, and tasted it, quickly approving with a nod, “Quite good my friend, thank you.”

  Dr. Benjamin Fehr was a renowned Israeli historian and had known and worked with Dr. Boyd on many occasions over the last twenty years. He even helped usher in a new recruit ten years ago who was “a little rough around the edges” as he had been warned.

  The men clinked their glasses.

  “L'Chaim,” Ben said. “To life.”

  “Yes, cheers,” Boyd agreed and took a long sip from his own glass.

  “How is your son, William? Is he still having those awful nightmares you were telling me about?”

  Boyd’s cheerful mood darkened at the thought of his son’s struggles. “He’s slowly getting better,” he replied. “But I’m more worried about the long-term damage his mind may suffer as a result. A man of his age shouldn’t be going through the things he is. He’s at Chichen Itza right now chasing down a lead, trying to make sense of what we found in Algeria.”

  “Let’s hope he finds what he’s looking for.” Ben took another sip. “Next time you talk to him, give him my best, will you?”

  “Of course,” Boyd said sitting behind his desk. “He asks about you, you know. He still mentions how you were the first person to take him seriously as an archaeologist. Harrison is very thankful—even though he may not come out and say it.”

  Ben blushed a little, “He was a most…” He paused looking for the right word. “…unusual student for sure. But one of the brightest I’ve ever had the privilege of working with.”

  The two men laughed, reminiscing of stories from their younger years working together. What they called their “greatest hits.”

  “Oh come on, Ben. You deserved that black eye.”

  “How was I to know she was married?”

  They laughed again, enjoying each other’s company. They were like two schoolyard chums, sitting around, laughing at each other’s prior misfortunes.

  Ben leaned forward, all but dismissing the pleasantries. “What’s going on William?” He asked. “Why call me down here—now—at this time of night? I’ll be in town for another week, lecturing. We could have met for breakfast if anything. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?”

  Boyd got up from his desk and quietly shut the door to his office, locking it. He then pulled a key out of his pocket and opened an unmarked filing cabinet next to his desk.

  Ben carefully watched him select a file from the back of the drawer. He then opened a second drawer and took out yet another folder.

  Handing Ben the first file, Boyd walked back to his desk, leaning on the table top. He carefully placed the second file on the table-top, leaving it closed.

  Ben looked up at his friend and then opened the folder. Inside were reports on the legend of an ancient Mayan god named, Au Puch.

  “Page four, Ben,” Boyd directed.

  Ben flipped the page and immediately noticed a printout, or rather a copy of the report.

  It described a myth about one of the ancient Mayan gods named, Au Puch. The death god, also known as Yum Cimil, was said to bring disease and death to anyone who opposed him. After he supposedly died, due to unknown circumstances, his ashes were collected and buried. Fear gripped the people of the area, and the local residences were later abandoned.

  Ben looked up from the report, “What’s all this?”

  “That,” Boyd said. “Is the reason we have a team in the Yucatan. We believe we may have found something and Xander has organized an expedition to Jaina Island, along the western shore of Campeche.”

  “Xander?” Ben said, confused. “But, I thought Dr. Weaver was retiring?”

  “He is,” Boyd replied. “But, he wanted one last hurrah before hanging it up. He had recently rediscovered an ancient text, long forgotten, in one of our archives that had mention of a potential…” He took the file from Ben, reading a line from it. “And I quote, ‘A weapon against the enemies of his people.’”

  Ben remembered hearing about the find through the grapevine but had heard that the text was in such poor condition that it would be all but impossible to read, but apparently, they did, in fact, translate the text. Before he could ask the burning question, Boyd answered it.

  “This weapon was supposedly a gift from the gods—or a curse depending on what side of it you were on. It was said to bring,” he again read from the report, “darkness over anyone who opposed them.”

  “Wait, back up. Who’s him?” Ben asked.

  “He,” Boyd replied, “was a prince of the Aztecs and was known to be a bit of a warmonger. This prince wanted a legendary Mayan doomsday weapon that was rumored to be buried in a cursed tomb. Against the king’s will, he and his best and most able-bodied warriors traveled east to where it was buried, that of which we don’t exactly know.”

  “Isla de Jaina?” Ben asked.

  “Xander thinks as much,” Boyd answered with a shrug. “So much, in fact, he asked me for a crew and travel to Mexico.”

  He took another lengthy sip of scotch and continued, “Xander believes the prince resided in the massive city of Teotihuacan, around modern-day Mexico City, where approximately 200,000 people lived.”

  “Wasn’t there some sort of catastrophe in Teotihuacan?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, or I should say, possibly. Some authorities on ancient Mesoamerican cultures, of which Xander is at the front of, I remind you, believe a plague or some attacking force wiped out the majority of the population. It wasn’t fully documented as to why.”

  “So Xander thinks this disease, or whatever it was, is the reason for the disappearance of the citizens of Teotihuacan?” Ben asked. “Did the prince unleash it on his own people?”

  “Doubtful,” Boyd said. “But no one knows. If it’s as volatile as it sounds, then there may have been an accident of some kind while handling it. It’s not like they had the CDC, or something like it, in 7th century Mexico.”

  Ben nodded his agreement, then asked, “Who wrote the manuscript that Xander found in the archives?”

  “It’s conjecture at this point, but Xander thinks it was one of Au Puch’s followers, or maybe a cleric of some sort. Either way, whoever authored it, worshiped the Mayan equivalent of Satan. It spoke highly of the death god.”

  “Mesoamerican devil worship?” Ben questioned, eyebrow raised. “That’s a new one.”

  Boyd lifted his hands, implying to his friend not to shoot the messenger, “You know as well as anyone. Whenever you have the glorifying of good, you also have the adoration of evil. It’s the yin and yang of man’s morality.”

  Ben nodded, again in agreement.

  Boyd just shrugged his shoulders, instinctively rubbing his fingers over the closed folder on his desk. The movement was subtle but didn’t go unnoticed, it was obviously important.

  “And that?” Ben asked, motioning to the tabled file.

  Boyd looked down at the folder and picked it up. He held it out for his friend, wanting him to read it, a distant look in his eyes.

  Ben took the offered file and opened it. Inside were graphs and test results to something he didn’t understand. That’s when he noticed that this wasn’t any kind of report that you’d find in their professions. These were the findings of a medical report.

  Confused and now very concerned, Ben feverishly flipped through the few pages the folder contained, not wanting to believe what they said.

  12

  Chichen Itza, Yucatan, Mexico

  “Shit!” Kane yells in pain as a bullet rips into his chest, knocking him to the ground. He tries to roll as he lands but ends up flopping on the grass field like a fish out of water. As he hits, he’s heavily wheezing from the impact…but alive.

  “Kane, you okay!” I shout as I roll for cover. After the events of the last year, I don’t screw around when I hear gunshots. I hit the deck instantly, particularly when they are in my direction.

  “Dammit-son-of-a-piece-of-monkey…”

  Apparently, he’s okay—minus the bullet now lodged in his Kevlar vest. Kane had insisted on us each wearing one during our night search, just in case. He didn’t think anyone would try something during park hours. “Too many witnesses,” he had said.

  I’m glad he listened to his own advice, I think, drawing my Glock, ready for anything.

  We return fire towards the jungle. The two security guards join me and poke out from behind the northwest corner of the stone pyramid, and Nicole from a level higher. I’m not exactly sure how she got up the eight-foot-high wall, to the top of the first of nine terraces. She probably got a boost from someone—that’s when I see Veruca curled up in a ball, sobbing from fright, lying directly under Nicole’s position. Did she climb up the other woman, using her as a step stool?

  We continue our volley, giving Kane just enough time to crab-walk to where we took cover before we are forced back by another barrage of bullets. He stumbles and crashes to the turf at my feet, breathing hard.

  Lying on his back, he looks up to me and draws one of his Desert Eagles, readying it.

  “You ready?” I ask, reaching up with my free hand, activating my NVS2 glasses with a press of a button.

  What I see is incredible.

  Within my already enhanced night vision is the new HUD I was told to expect, along with our video feeds, and the over-the-top information display of the surrounding structures. My glasses are even programmed with directional compasses, pointing the way to my partners.

  Kane nods and grunts, climbing to his feet. “On my count. Then open up with everything you have and haul ass up the stairs of the Castle. We need to get to higher ground—to a more defensible position.”

  We silently agree with the plan and prepare to let loose another offensive.

  “Okay,” he starts. “3…2…1…”

  As Kane finishes his countdown, Nicole and I, along with the two guardsmen, pop out from our cover and open fire into the woods along the perimeter of the courtyard. A faint cry can be heard, as well as a shout from out in the dark recesses. Hopefully, one of us hit one—or if we’re lucky—maybe more of the attackers.

  “Move your asses!” Kane barks as we move as one, huffing it up the stairs of the Ninety-eight-foot-high step-pyramid.

  I silently curse at the NVS2 for displaying the angle of descent, which is an incredibly steep fifty-two degrees and for also showing a number of steps, ninety-one…which just plain sucks. What’s even worse is that they slowly start to count down, after each one is conquered.

  Dammit, Todd, I think, cursing the software engineer.

  Veruca—who let’s face it—has probably never ventured to the top of the Castle before, quickly falls behind. She’s at least six or seven steps behind the rest of us and losing ground.

  “Go back and help her,” I yell to one the guards.

  He complies and turns—only to be struck in the chest by twin projectiles—sending up corresponding geysers of blood, which spray all over Veruca’s face.

  She screams in horror and stumbles over the dead man’s body, blinded by the gore in her eyes. She spits and gags as well.

  And…in her mouth. The thought of another person’s blood being forcibly shoved in my mouth is revolting and triggers my usually rock-solid gag reflex.

  “Ugh!” I grumble in frustration, grabbing the remaining guard’s arm, dragging him down the stairs. We reach the now hysterical woman’s side and yank her up the stairs, just as bullets start to ping off the stone around us.

  Our once uptight and brash chaperone has, in a matter of seconds, been transformed into a blood-soaked, blubbering, off balance toddler. She can barely walk, let alone climb the remaining fifty-plus stairs to the top.

  I look at the guard, “Man… Do we have our work cut out for us?” The look on his face is one of agreement…and terror.

  “We could just leave her, yes?” Replies the guard with a smirk, the tension of the situation easing back if only for a moment. Humor can do that sometimes.

  Veruca cries out in fear at hearing the man’s comment. She even begins to plead for us to not leave her.

  I laugh inwardly, shaking my head. This must be the security officer who was laughing earlier when Nicole went off on the woman. At least, he’s halfway composing himself.

  “Move it, guys!” A voice roars from above. “Double time it!”

  I look up, seeing Kane and Nicole at the summit of the pyramid, firing down behind us from the opening of the temple. Kane’s Desert Eagle booms across the open space, echoing across the courtyard, causing my ears to ring.

  “Flytta den! Move it, Hank!” Nicole yells in between shots. “We need to get inside, now!”

  Thankfully, our near-comatose tour guide snaps out of her stupor and picks up on Nicole’s urgency. Now, more aware of her surroundings and of the predicament she has found herself in, she graciously speeds up. She even let’s go of us and sprints the rest of the way, some fifteen stairs, up to the top and through the temple’s doorway.

  The guard and I, who told me his name was Fernando while we staggered up the incline, hit the top step and dive in unison into the entrance. Just as we leap forward another salvo of bullets rip through the air, slamming into the stone around us. Fortunately, the decreased angle from below is making it difficult for our foes to get off clean and accurate shots. We slide to a stop on the stone floor, where Fernando quickly gets to his feet, taking up a position inside the opening’s frame.

  Lying on the cool stone floor, not being able to get up so fast, I look back and see our assailants. Ten black-clad shadows appear from the dark, rifles up. My glasses count the invading force, registering their positions, logging them into our shared database. Both Kane and Nicole see them as well.

  Satisfied with at least knowing what we are up against, I scramble on all fours, backing into the roof-top temple where we will have to make our stand.

  Let’s just hope we can make it out alive.

  * * *

  “Sir, we have them pinned down in the temple at the top of the pyramid.”

  “Very good, Sara. Any casualties?”

  “Yes sir, two of ours and one of theirs, but we still outgun them by more than two-to-one.”

 

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