The Girl in the Mayan Tomb Page 4

  “Dr. Graham is in from Central America. He was leading a team into that new Mayan city. The one that kid found using Google Maps.”

  “Henry Eagan,” Graham said, his expression sour, though subtle.

  “Xi'paal ‘ek Kaah,” Kotler said, nodding. “I've been following your progress, John,” he said to Graham. “You're doing incredible work.”

  “I was,” Graham said. “They've halted everything.”

  Kotler's eyebrows arched. “What happened?”

  Graham made a noise, and shook his head with a sickened expression. “That girl happened.”

  Kotler was confused, and glanced at Denzel. The agent had finished two of the three cups, and brought them to Graham and Kotler.

  “Dr. Graham is referring to the murder victim,” Denzel said. “A Caucasian woman, American, approximately 18 to 20 years old. She was found in the ruins.”

  “Specifically, in a tomb that, I had thought, had not been opened for thousands of years,” Graham said, the bitterness evident in his voice.

  Denzel returned to the coffee maker, and Kotler took a sip from his own cup. His tongue was still burned from rapid-firing scalding Greek coffee earlier, and he wasn't able to taste the full flavor of the coffee. Even without his complete faculties, however, he could tell it wasn't exactly the best cup of joe he'd ever had. Something about these pod machines made them adequate, but not great.

  Kotler would admit he was something of a coffee snob, but he was also an “any port in a storm” consumer, preferring to make do rather than go without. And the pods, at the very least, weren't on the “awful” category.

  “So, someone contaminated the site before you got there,” Kotler said, sipping again. “Maybe she was drawn there by all of the hype surrounding Henry Eagan's story.”

  Graham scoffed. “Not unless she had a time machine,” he said.

  Again, Kotler glanced at Denzel, who was finally returning with his own cup of coffee. “The girl in question died several years ago. We're still awaiting results on an exact time and cause of death. The conditions of the site are making the usual forensics difficult.”

  Kotler nodded. “The jungle environment. It can be pretty rough. But, you're sure her death wasn't recent?”

  “She was mostly bones when we found her,” Graham said. “And there was evidence in her handbag that indicated she'd been there for at least five years.”

  “Five years?” Kotler asked, astonished.

  Denzel used a remote to turn on the large flat screen at one end of the conference room. There were images already on display. One was a driver's license for Margaret Elizabeth Hamilton.

  Kotler was surprised, and peered closer. “Margaret Hamilton. Maggie Hamilton? The Broadway star?”

  Denzel nodded. “DNA is still out for verification, but since she had the right New York driver's license, we figure it's her.”

  “She did disappear about five years ago,” Kotler said. “The story circulating in the media was that she was likely abducted and murdered by her ex-boyfriend. The producer.”

  “Leonard DeFranco,” Denzel said. “He was never officially charged, and with no evidence against him, the investigation went cold.”

  “Has anyone reached out to him since this has come up?” Kotler asked.

  “I'm making arrangements to visit with him this afternoon,” Denzel said. “I was hoping you'd go with me. Maybe give me a read of the guy.”

  Kotler nodded. His ability to read body language had come in handy more than once, since he and Denzel had been working together. “My afternoon is clear.”

  Denzel turned to Graham. “Can you run through everything you told me, to bring Dr. Kotler up to speed?” He handed Graham the remote.

  Graham clicked through to a new image, this one a shot of the Mayan city—Xi'paal ‘ek Kaah—shrouded in bright green jungle overgrowth. “After Henry Eagan's initial discovery, we spent some time poring over more advanced satellite imagery, to make sure there was really something there. An expedition of this type can be quite expensive, as you know. And quite dangerous. We found enough trace evidence, by examining the canopy, to warrant a flyover with LIDAR.”

  Kotler nodded. LIDAR—an acronym for Light Detection and Ranging—was a detection system that worked on the same principles as radar, but used lasers to scan and generate a 3D model. Kotler had frequently used the system himself, on both large and small-scale sites. Most recently, he had used LIDAR to aid in searching the alleged Atlantis site, scanning the ruins and the island itself for traces of anything hidden.

  He had also used LIDAR to scan a storage room built on the estate of Thomas Edison, in an effort to find the access point to a hidden chamber. He'd done this under duress—Gail McCarthy's henchmen had weapons trained on him, Agent Denzel, and a bystander, at the time. But the scan had paid off, revealing a hidden chamber beneath Edison's old carriage house, containing an immense treasure, culled from the Atlantis site by Edison himself.

  Edison's estate had been the site of the showdown between Kotler and Gail McCarthy. Given everything that followed, it was hard to say who had come out of that conflict as the winner. Gail had escaped, and assumed control of Robert Van Burren's immense smuggling empire, even as Kotler and Denzel had secured the treasure and the Atlantis site itself.

  Kotler could only think of that as a draw.

  He shook off the memory, and refocused his attention on Graham's presentation.

  “The 3D scans verified young Mr. Eagan's discovery,” Graham continued. “We found several structures on the site, including a step pyramid, similar to the one at Chichén Itzá, in the Yucatán. The designs are very similar. I'm even hoping there will be a sun feature, like the feathered serpent shadow at the Yucatán site.”

  Kotler caught Denzel's confused expression. “During the equinox, you can stand at the base of Chichén Itzá and watch as the stairs form a long, undulating shadow, which connects with the serpent headed statues at the pyramid's base. It's quite an event, and shows just how aware the Mayans were, when it came to celestial phenomenon.”

  Denzel nodded, and gave a wave to Graham, who continued.

  “There are no serpent heads at the base of the steps for these pyramids, unfortunately. Not that we've determined. The undergrowth is still very heavy there, and more excavation is needed. For now, there are no proper names for these new structures. I was hoping to gain the right to name them myself, but that may not happen for quite some time.”

  Kotler fought the urge to roll his eyes. He knew the instinct, of course. archaeologists had a tendency to want to be the first to discover something, to have their names immortalized in the history books. But it went beyond mere legacy or ego, in most cases. In an age of increasing competitiveness, academics and scientists were continually forced to justify their work to faceless underwriters and investors, who often cared more about the potential windfall of a discovery than the preservation of its history.

  Archeological sites, like everything else, had become an investment. For Graham, having his name associated with a large and lucrative find meant job security, as much as an established legacy. It was hard to fault him for vanity or ego, in a case like this. It was more about self-preservation.

  Graham advanced a slide, and an ornately carved stone rectangle appeared on screen. Kotler recognized some of the carvings, from other Mayan sites.

  “My assistants came across this while the vines and growth were being cleared,” Graham said. “It's currently exposed to the elements, by way of a collapse in the outer temple wall. The collapse seems to have happened several hundred years ago, judging from the advance and decay of dead flora. But this would have been completely hidden from the outside, and only accessible via a network of inner tunnels.”

  Kotler stood, and walked close to the screen, coffee in hand. He was peering at the markings, deciphering what he could. “It's a doorway,” he observed.

  “Yes,” Graham replied. “And what else do you see?”

  Kotle
r leaned in, studying, then turned back to Graham and Denzel, wide-eyed.

  “Viracocha?” he asked in awe.

  Graham nodded. “That's what I thought as well.”

  “You mentioned him before,” Denzel said to Graham. “So, who is Viracocha?”

  Kotler gave Graham a glance, and got a nod to proceed.

  “Viracocha was primarily an Incan creator god,” Kotler said, “though evidence of him has turned up in Mayan ruins as well. There are a lot of stories about him that can be found all over Mesoamerica, in stone carvings and even wall paintings that have survived. He's something of an enigma. Some anthropologists believe that ‘Viracocha' may be just another name for ‘Quetzalcoatl,' the winged serpent who also, occasionally, presented himself as a human. There's some back and forth on this. I personally feel there's a connection, based on the legends of both gods. But what makes Viracocha so intriguing and controversial is that he is often depicted as a Caucasian man with a beard, wearing flowing robes. Tales and legends have him making his way about the continent, along with his disciples, performing miracles and healings, and spreading an ideology of peace.”

  Denzel arched his eyebrows, and shook his head. “Wait, I thought the Inca and the Mayans were all operating before Columbus.”

  “They were,” Graham said, nodding. “Which is what makes the legends so intriguing. These stories are essentially evidence of contact between European and Mesoamerican cultures, thousands of years before the established historic contact.”

  “And this guy was … well, maybe I'm just putting my own perspective on this, but he sounds a lot like Jesus,” Denzel said, making a face that expressed he was clearly ready for some backlash.

  “Exactly,” Kotler said. “Viracocha is often described in terms of being a Christ-like figure, having visited Central America thousands of years before the recorded birth of Christ, and preaching a message of peace and civilization that was incredibly similar to the Christ message.”

  Denzel shook his head. “That's just hard to swallow.”

  “No less so for we in the scientific community,” Graham said, his expression pained. “But there are factions,” he peered pointedly at Kotler, “who believe.”

  “Or suspect,” Kotler supplied, smiling. “If there's one thing science and history teach us, it's that coincidence is the least likely answer.”

  He turned back to the image of the stone doorway. “If this is the tomb of Viracocha …” he started.

  “It will be one of the greatest archeological finds of the century,” Graham said, nodding. “The things we could learn, from testing any DNA we find, could rewrite everything we thought we knew. That is, if it ever manages to become public. With the discovery of this girl, things have gotten complicated.”

  “I don't see how,” Kotler said. “If anything, discovering the body of a missing Broadway star in a hidden Mayan ruin would just add to the mystery and intrigue of the whole thing. The public will eat that up.”

  “There's more, though,” Graham said, advancing the slide.

  Photos of Maggie Hamilton appeared on screen, some headshots and photos of her on stage, as well as photos of her deteriorated body, still dressed in tattered designer clothes and Prada shoes.

  “We have no idea how she got there,” Graham said. “But upon investigating the site further, we discovered evidence that she had not been alone. At least, not before she entered the tomb. As my men were clearing the site, they found the remains of a large camp. Fire pits, the bones of several small animals and birds—leftovers from various meals—and homespun grass mats and lean-tos that had been abandoned. There were also numerous mounds of ash, dotted throughout the campsite, though we have no idea what was burned in those spots, or why. The traces of the group that had once camped there were slight, and easy to miss in the undergrowth. However, we also found shell casings. Spent cartridges that our security advisor identified as rounds from an AK-47. We know that local guerrillas use that weapon quite often, alongside others. It's a favorite, in the jungles.”

  “What do we think was the scenario here?” Kotler asked. “Maggie was kidnapped by guerrillas?”

  “We think so,” Denzel said. “It's the theory that makes the most sense, at the moment. She was likely abducted and held for ransom. It happens quite a bit with Americans traveling in the region. Though we haven't been able to confirm if anyone ever actually asked for a ransom for her.”

  “So how did she end up in the tomb of a Mayan god?” Kotler asked, reveling slightly in the feel of those words coming from his lips, because they were just so cool. They hinted at an adventure.

  “No idea,” Graham said. “My best guess is that she somehow escaped from her captors, found the door, triggered it, and it closed behind her.”

  “Forensics will give us cause of death, once the results are in,” Denzel said.

  Kotler nodded, and then had a thought, shivering.

  One potential cause of death might have been starvation—a horrible way to go, alone in the dark, hiding from men who would kill you or worse, if they found you. It was looking likely that Maggie Hamilton's last days were not filled with show tunes.

  “Things got a bit more complicated, however, when we inspected more of the tomb,” Graham said. “It turns out that what we found was an antechamber. There's another door within the tomb, and one I haven't yet determined how to open. Ms. Hamilton must not have found a way, either. There is scarring all around the door's edges, chips in the stone frame, as if she were trying to force it open. There are other artifacts in the tomb, some with inscriptions, some unidentified. And there is debris, largely in the form of shattered clay and stone tiles that have fallen from the ceiling, due to seismic activity in the region. There's nothing that verifies Viracocha, however. And no remains, other than those of Ms. Hamilton.”

  “The forensics team cataloged some of what they found,” Denzel offered. “But they stayed within a roped-off area. The Mexican government had restricted things a bit, at the time. Now, they've opened it back up, and are allowing a team to do a more thorough investigation.”

  Kotler nodded. “I'm sorry, John, but why did you feel you needed to call me for this? It sounds like you have the site well in hand.”

  “Part of it is access,” Graham said, though the words appeared to sour in his mouth. “My underwriters are adhering to strict protocols, placed on them by Mexican and US law enforcement. They don't want to lose the support of local government, which would embroil us in negotiations for years.”

  “And curtail any profits from a find,” Kotler said.

  Graham nodded, either unaware of Kotler's passive swipe, or unconcerned by it. “But Ms. Hamilton was a US citizen, and her case is still an open investigation. So, there is some leeway. The local authorities will allow US law enforcement to enter the site, as part of the investigation.”

  “And that includes any consultants that US law enforcement deems necessary,” Kotler said, catching on. “But you said access was only part of it. What's the other part?”

  Graham exchanged a glance with Denzel, then advanced the slide again. Kotler inspected the image.

  It was a note, written on what appeared to be a crumpled receipt, using a clumsy and thick handwriting.

  “It's written in eyeliner pencil,” Denzel said. “Makes it a little hard to read, but it held up well.”

  Kotler leaned in.

  They have Ah-Puch. Find it! Millions will die!

  “Ah-Puch?” Kotler asked.

  Graham nodded. “One of the Mayan pantheon. A god of death, darkness, and disaster.”

  “But also resurrection, child birth, and new beginnings,” Kotler replied, nodding. “Do we know what she meant by this?”

  Graham shook his head, then glanced toward Denzel. “Your friends in the FBI think it might be a reference to a weapon, though.”

  Kotler looked at Denzel, who shrugged. “Not my call,” he said. “But the name drew a flag from Homeland Security. It was used by a guerri
lla cell, around the time of Ms. Hamilton's disappearance. A threat. It was being treated as a biological weapon.”

  “Viral?” Kotler asked.

  Denzel shook his head. “No idea. No one knows for sure, actually. It would have been ignored as a crank, if not for the fact that this group threatened to use it at a summit in Mexico City, where the US President was making an appearance. That brought down the whole alphabet on the place—FBI, CIA, NSA. Nothing ever came of it, so the whole thing was filed and dismissed.”

  Kotler shook his head. “How would a bunch of guerrilla soldiers get their hands on a biological weapon? And why take it all the way to Mexico City?”

  “Could have just been a target of opportunity,” Denzel shrugged. “They made a threat, asked for a lot of cash, weapons, and vehicles. They never got any of it. And then they just disappeared.”

  “But the FBI is taking it seriously enough that they want to investigate?” Kotler asked.

  “That's part of it,” Denzel said. “As well as uncovering what happened with Maggie Hamilton. And finally closing that case.”

  Kotler looked at Graham then. “And you, John? Why are you here?”

  Graham stared at him for a moment. “Hat in hand, Dan,” he said. “I want my tomb. I want my temple. And so do my underwriters, and the university. You represent the best chance I have at getting back into that site and continuing my work. As much as it pains me, I need you.”

  Kotler nodded. At least Graham was being honest. Kotler was even willing to admit that he respected Graham's reasons. He understood that this was more than just a glory grab, it was survival. His career and the careers of his team depended on the exploration of that site, and the discoveries it held.

  Plus, there was the potential of a very scary weapon to consider. The world was at risk, again. How could anyone refuse to help and stop that, if it was in their power?

  Kotler looked back at the screen. “Alright, then,” he said. “Let's go find a Mayan god of death.”

  Chapter 3