The Girl in the Mayan Tomb Read online

  On the whole, Graham would rather have them here than not have them. He felt safer with them guarding the site.

  Graham and his assistants were feeling around the carved stone now, using small brushes to clear dust from crevices, occasionally pouring a bit of water onto the ornate design, to see if any of it seeped through. This was how they found the trigger.

  It was, ostensibly, the ornate eye of a Mayan chieftain or religious figure, carved in a reclined position and surrounded by some apparatus. It was similar to other carvings in Mayan culture, though no one knew for certain what it represented. There was speculation that it was Quetzalcoatl, the famed “winged serpent” god who often took human form. He was the god of intelligence and self-reflection, but also the god of creation, among the Maya.

  But the figure carved into this stone was different than most of the portrayals of Quetzalcoatl. For starters, this figure had a beard.

  “Viracocha,” Graham whispered.

  Another creator god, though from an earlier legend than Quetzalcoatl. Viracocha first appeared in the historic record as a god of the Inca, a culture even more ancient and mysterious, in most ways, than the Maya. In fact, there was a debate in the archeological community as to whether the Inca or the Maya were the first people of this region—some even speculated there was another culture, even older, that predated everything modern science and exploration had yet uncovered—a “third party” civilization.

  The third-party theory had been popularized by Egyptologists, but was finding purchase in other cultural research as well. In short, archaeological evidence suggested that rather than the slow development of most civilizations, certain cultures seemed to have emerged all at once, and fully formed. The transition from a primitive culture to an advanced society occasionally appears to have happened almost overnight. Technological skills that should have taken hundreds or thousands of years to develop seemed to become part of some cultures with no apparent cycle of growth or evolution.

  The most logical explanation—the Occam's Razor—suggested that these cultures hadn't developed the technology at all, but had instead inherited it from an as yet unknown third party.

  The same might be true of certain legendary or historic figures, particularly among the Maya and Inca cultures. Indeed, all of the ancient Mesoamericans shared certain stories and folklore, some of which even felt eerily similar to the mythos of faraway cultures such as the Egyptians, the Phoenicians, even the ancient Celts. Among these were stories of “saviors”—great men who appeared like prophets, espoused virtue and enlightenment, and acted as guides for humanity's development into civilization.

  Viracocha was one of these figures.

  Graham wasn't quite ready to accept that there was one predominant, ancient culture that predated humanity's earliest records and memories, but he couldn't quite exclude the possibility, either. Viracocha's legend might have been handed down from that earlier, mythic line. Graham felt that as a very distinct possibility.

  Because of that beard.

  Records of early Mesoamerica were scarce, with a great deal having been destroyed by the Spanish Conquistadors, under the command of the Catholic Church, on a tear to dispose of heathen gods and demonic depictions wherever they surfaced. What little that survived that brutal desecration, however, was intriguing.

  Viracocha was the first of a line of “Caucasians,” all bearing the same name, in the Mayan and Incan records. Viracocha, the first among them, had one day arrived from the sea—the origin of his name, which meant “sea foam”—and had at once begun teaching the fundamentals of civilization and morality to the natives of the Americas, long before either continent possessed that name.

  Viracocha was described, by those ancient indigenous people, as a white man with a beard, wearing robes, who performed miraculous healings and taught a message of acceptance and peace. He was accompanied by “disciples,” who could perform many of the same works, in his name.

  This description, as one might imagine, sparked all sorts of controversial but intriguing ideas among the academic community, as early as the mid-1700s. A clearly European man, appearing several millennia prior to the discovery of the Americas, and sounding a great deal like a certain carpenter from Bethlehem, was something rare and unique indeed. It was intriguing to the public, sparking a wildfire of speculation and fantasy, a love for the ever-growing mystery of this region.

  It was a stack of historic anomalies that gave men like John Graham nightmares.

  What did it mean, and how had it come to pass? Thanks to overzealous Spanish friars and those who followed their orders, the world might never know. Men such as Friar Diego de Landa, acting on behalf of the Church, gathered and destroyed any Maya codices his men could find, along with any idols and altars they came across. Ironically, de Landa later had a change of heart, and started actively gathering everything he could find, in an effort to preserve Mayan culture. A bit too late, for the most part. In no time, an ancient culture was practically erased from history.

  Now, here in this lost temple, Graham found himself rediscovering at least some part of that culture—coming face to face with a possibility and a legend. There were no prior records to indicate that Viracocha's mythos might have strayed to this region of Central America, and so finding this tomb could open a way to retrieve some of that lost history. It was possible that Graham could learn the truth about Viracocha and his disciples. It was possible that he could unravel a lost legend.

  If this turned out to be the tomb of Viracocha …

  “Step back,” he said to Derek and Charlene.

  They stepped a few paces back, and Graham took a deep breath. He reached out with a shaking hand, and pressed the stone trigger, feeling the grind of it against the grit of the ornate door.

  There were clicks and other noises from within the stones, signaling that the walls themselves were hollow, and housed some ancient mechanism. Graham stepped back now, and watched in fascination as the ornate stone doorway tilted upward, pressed from its top by some counter-balanced weight, and turning on an unseen fulcrum. The stone became a door, and the doorway to the crypt beyond stood revealed.

  Glancing back at his assistants, Graham smiled. He took out a flashlight, and wiped his brow once more with the handkerchief. “Derek, go report this to the others. Tell them to come back here, but not to enter unless I'm not heard from in an hour. Charlene, follow me, but don't stay too close. Step only where I step, and be prepared to backtrack quickly, if anything happens to me.”

  Derek seemed a bit disappointed at being excluded from exploring this new find, but he did as he was told. And Charlene did exactly as instructed, brandishing her own flashlight as they entered the passage.

  The stone corridor was dark and dank, and smelled of loam and rotted vegetation. Not a good sign, really. It meant that if there were still remains down here, they might not have fared well over the centuries. But any find would be incredible, at this point, and Graham could barely contain his excitement. He carefully moved through the tunnel, sweeping his light across the path, the walls, the ceiling. These ruins were notorious for housing traps—one of the details that films such as Indiana Jones got right. For a supposedly primitive culture—one that many archaeologists still foolishly believed hadn't even discovered the wheel—the Mayans and other ancient Mesoamerican cultures were profoundly proficient with clever, mechanical apparatus. Particularly if they were meant to kill intruders.

  They made their way deeper into the temple, and Graham was relieved to see that the air was becoming dry and cool. The humidity dropped, vegetation thinned, and the walls started to look dryer, the stones free of the glistening moisture that lined the tunnel entrance. There was the hope of a preserved cadaver here, after all, Graham thought.

  The tunnel opened into a larger chamber, and Graham stopped, his breath taken by the sight. This was the place. This was where he'd find a treasure for the ages. Perhaps he'd find Viracocha himself. No internet hype could stand a chance again
st the sensation he would unleash on the world, once he'd found physical proof of an ancient god!

  This was his, alone. The first of modern man to set foot in this tomb, and the first of any human to be here in thousands of years. His underwriters would lose their minds. He would be funded for decades to come. He smiled.

  “Dr. Graham,” he heard Charlene say.

  He looked back at her, the smile still firm on his features. He saw that she was standing to the side, having disobeyed his rule about following in only his steps. But he was willing to forgive it, here in this chamber, where a legend might be unearthed. He was willing to overlook just about anything, now that he'd made some real progress here. He was already calculating the best way to go about excavation and inspection. They'd have to proceed very carefully, to avoid both dangers and damage to whatever they found here. It would be work, but it was what they'd come here for. The discovery would make it all worthwhile.

  Charlene was pointing.

  Graham followed her gaze, and trained his flashlight on the spot she indicated … and his heart sank.

  They had found human remains, after all. They had, in fact, uncovered a perfectly preserved corpse.

  She was wearing Prada.

  Chapter 1

  Dr. Dan Kotler wasn't very patient, for an archaeologist. It was one of his greatest failings, and he knew it. He had gone to great lengths to overcome it.

  For quite some time, he had studied multiple disciplines and practiced meditative arts, meant to center him, to keep him focused on the present moment. He had studied Yoga and Tai Chi, as well as more combative martial arts. He had also found and studied under a guru, learning the art of meditation, and endeavoring to reach a higher plane of consciousness with every long, leg-cramping session.

  It wasn't his favorite pursuit.

  The best he'd managed from all of this disciplined training was an ability to control his breathing and clear his thoughts, when things were getting stressful. That was good enough, his guru assured him. Good enough for now. Patience, and all good things will come.

  Kotler couldn't help feeling his guru might be practicing patience every time Kotler came to call. He wasn't a very good student, when it came to these things. Prayer and meditation weren't his strengths.

  At the moment, however, he was bent in an almost prayerful way, though it wasn't precisely a meditation, in the Eastern sense. He was staring through a photographer's loupe at tiny, nearly imperceptible etchings on a brass plate, trying to decipher any meaning he could.

  Prayer, in its way. Though an aggravating kind that only brought bliss when the answers finally came.

  If they ever came.

  Kotler was examining a small hole, about the size of a US dime, encircled with characters that he thought might be Phoenician, but weren't quite matching up. He sat up and once again consulted several texts, both in the form of paper-bound books and, more frequently these days, as digital scans on an iPad. Again and again he had come back to these references, each time discovering that close was not good enough, when it came to language. These markings might look Phoenician, but they weren't translating as such.

  It was all just gibberish, at the moment. Frustrating, infuriating gibberish.

  He tossed the loupe to the side, and it bounced once before landing on its edge, rolling in a circle and coming to a rest against the compass. Kotler picked this up with the same feeling of disgust and frustration as he'd had examining the brass plate.

  The compass also had its markings, though these were not the same language. These markings were Latin, and were easily readable. In fact, he had already translated the message around the rim of the compass: "Here there be monsters."

  It was an old and familiar phrase, and one that appeared frequently on ancient maps, warning travelers of unexplored regions where both real and imagined dangers might hold sway. Europeans had written that passage on maps for hundreds of years, even after most of the world had been "discovered." Seeing it etched onto an ancient brass compass was unusual, but not so much that it rang with significance.

  The implications, though—those were interesting. Marking unexplored territory on a map was one thing, but a compass was a guide to exploration in general. Etching that phrase along its edge implied that the maker of this artifact somehow saw the entire world as being dangerous. Everything, to this engraver, was unexplored. Everywhere, there be monsters.

  Kotler sat back on his stool, leaning away from the workbench, and sighed. In a very real way, that ancient engraver was profoundly right. Here, there, and everywhere, there be monsters. It was certainly true of the woman who had given these objects to him.

  He reached out and picked up the crystal that had been one of the three objects handed over by Gail McCarthy—the monster in question. He looked through the crystal at the bright LED light hanging over his workbench. It wasn't quite the same as looking through it in daylight, but he could still get a feel for the diffused light, illuminating the opaque crystal from the other side.

  This was a sun stone—something the Vikings used to help them find the position of the sun, as they sailed the ocean through deep fog and overcast days. This simple crystal made it possible for the Vikings to sail across the Atlantic, to become the first non-indigenous people to step onto the shores of the Americas.

  At least, that was the theory.

  It was a plausible one, considering all the evidence that had mounted over the decades, particularly within the past two years. Vikings, it seemed, had overcome their millennia-long historical shyness, and emerged on the world stage in full regalia, calling attention to themselves in almost absurd ways.

  The Coelho dig site, in Pueblo, Colorado, had proven to be a treasure trove of new information about the Vikings in America. Kotler himself had spent quite a bit of time at that site, and had helped uncover many of its secrets. In a way, Kotler's present life began with those discoveries, like a new epoch following an apocalypse. Even these three artifacts, plaguing him with unanswered questions, had come to him because of the events he had experienced in Pueblo.

  Gail McCarthy. She had come into his life because of those events, as well.

  Gail had first approached Kotler by posing as one of his neighbors. An easy feat for the granddaughter of one of Manhattan's most prominent real estate moguls. As it turned out, however, she had a darker agenda than simply asking for a cup of sugar. She quickly enlisted Kotler in a series of events that led to none other than the discovery of Atlantis.

  Or, at the very least, the most promising lead on Atlantis the world had, to date. The jury was still out, regarding its authenticity.

  For months, now, Kotler and a team of researchers and scientists had explored the small island hidden in the Indian Ocean, relatively close to Sri Lanka. Small enough, in fact, that it eluded modern maps. It could be spotted on satellite imagery, if one were looking for it. Otherwise, it was a pixel on the larger map of the region, easily overlooked.

  The ruins there, along with artifacts found both above and below the ocean's surface, were very promising indeed. They, along with the pages of one of Thomas Edison's lost journals, made a strong case for it being Atlantis. But there was enough doubt to keep Kotler or anyone else from naming it definitively or officially. Time, and more exploration, would tell.

  But aside from a potentially history-altering discovery, Gail McCarthy had also pulled Kotler and his partner, Agent Roland Denzel of the FBI, into a level of danger and intrigue that neither had expected or prepared against. Gail, it was later revealed, was making a power play, to gain control of a vast smuggling empire operated by her mentor, Richard Van Burren. Her own grandfather, Edward McCarthy, had served as Van Burren's commanding officer in Vietnam, and together they had used their Special Forces training and connections to create one of the most efficient smuggling operations on the planet, using a billion-dollar real estate business to hide their comings and goings, as well as to launder their ill-gained fortune.

  Gail had s
et her sights on that empire, after the death of her grandfather. Kotler and Denzel had stopped her.

  Despite losing the gambit to mine Atlantis for its wealth and treasures, Gail had managed a coup by taking over Van Burren's smuggling operation. Which, as it turned out, may have been of greater benefit to her than her original goal.

  The network turned out to be so far-reaching, and so well connected, that Gail was able to use it to move freely around the globe, undetected. It had given her quite a bit of power and reach, as she had proven only months ago.

  Kotler and Denzel had assisted Detective Peter Holden, of the NYPD, in the investigation of the high-profile murder of rock-legend-turned-technologist, Ashton Mink. In the course of that investigation, they had discovered that a new and sinister technology was being developed—one that could dominate the free will of anyone who came into contact with it. The 'Devil's Interval' became the focus of the investigation, and Kotler once again found himself using his knowledge of history and science to prevent global catastrophe.

  In the midst of that investigation, however, Gail had shown herself again. This time, she had Kotler abducted—largely as a show of her power and reach—and had then given him these three artifacts.

  "Solve this and you'll find me," she had said to Kotler, just as she boarded a private jet and disappeared, once again out of reach to even the FBI.

  "Solve this," Kotler said, mocking, dropping the sun stone back on the table with a click.