up the steps towards us… No! No!’
O’Connor found the Buddha Bar not far from the shores of the lake. and he mentally filed his escape routes. A Tibetan flag flew over the main entrance. Statues and images of the Buddha added an Asian ambience to the ochre Spanish-style building, which contained a huge wooden Buddha that had been used on the set of Apocalypse Now. O’Connor scanned the crowd in the dimly lit ground-floor bar. It was full, but O’Connor quickly determined they were mainly backpackers playing pool and smoking weed, a pastime that was de rigueur in San Pedro. He checked to see if he was being followed, and climbed the stairs to the second-floor restaurant.
The big casual horseshoe booths were crowded with tourists and locals, save for one at the far end. O’Connor recognised Jennings immediately. He was sitting next to a boy whom O’Connor judged to be not more than fifteen. Jennings was sipping a whisky and the boy a Coke, prompting O’Connor to wonder what might be in the boy’s glass.
O’Connor took the next flight of stairs to survey the rooftop bar, which had a 360-degree view of the darkened lake. It, too, was crowded with backpackers. The sweet, pungent smell of weed hung heavily around the balcony where the two ex-navy SEALs were standing with their backs to O’Connor. One of them had a neatly trimmed beard, but the short military-style haircuts were a dead giveaway. O’Connor retreated downstairs, where Jennings was returning from the bar with another whisky and another ‘Coke’ for the boy. A shiver ran down O’Connor’s spine as Jennings placed his hand on the boy’s thigh. O’Connor had to fight a powerful urge to blow his cover and free the boy from the fat priest’s grasp. Instead, he headed back out towards the main street, and threaded his way through the late-night shoppers and the tuc tucs buzzing across the cobblestones, past the brightly coloured buildings, one of which was painted with a huge sign, declaring Jesus as Lord of San Pedro La Laguna.
O’Connor reached the top of the steep road, hardly having raised his heartbeat. He paused beside a shop, long enough to scan the occupants of the dimly lit square and analyse the layout of the big white-washed church standing opposite at the summit of the hill. The presbytery would be the little building to one side, he concluded. He headed around the perimeter of the square and approached through the cover of the palm trees and church gardens.
The lock was elementary and O’Connor closed the oak door quietly behind him. He flicked on his pocket torch and began a systematic search of Jennings’ small apartment. The kitchen table, which appeared to double as a desk, revealed nothing of interest. Nor did the kitchenette or the small bathroom, but when he searched the cupboard under the stairs, he found the scuba gear, just as Jennings had. O’Connor climbed the narrow stairs to the mezzanine bedroom above. In the bottom of the wardrobe O’Connor found a small trunk. He picked the lock and inside he found a stack of NAMBLA Bulletins, the official magazine of the North American Man/Boy Love Association. On the topmost magazine Jennings had scrawled ‘very cute’ across the photo of the boy on the cover.
O’Connor relocked the trunk and turned his attention to the manhole cover in the ceiling. He dragged across the only chair in the room, hoisted himself into the ceiling and played the torchlight over the piles of rat droppings scattered amongst the old beams. The light picked out three small dusty trunks at the far end of the confined roof space, and O’Connor eased himself along the central joist. The dust was an indicator that the trunks almost certainly did not to belong to Jennings. Again, he picked the locks and opened the first trunk. Diaries. Dozens of them. O’Connor thumbed through the uppermost one and found the last entry had been made twelve months before von Hei?en had fled. Was there one diary missing? O’Connor wondered as he opened the second, and then the third trunk, which contained the diaries covering von Hei?en’s time at Mauthausen. They were in chronological order, and, curious, O’Connor located the diary for 1938. Five minutes later he let out a soft whistle as he found von Hei? en’s meticulous entry for Heinrich Himmler’s visit to Mauthausen. Reichsfuhrer Himmler sehr zufrieden mit Geburtstag… Reichsfuhrer Himmler very pleased with celebrations for the Fuhrer’s birthday. Forty-eight Jewish scum executed – one for each year of the Fuhrer’s glorious life. Himmler personally congratulated me on the smooth functioning of Konzentrationslager Mauthausen, giving strong intimation that promotion to Standartenfuhrer is being considered! Herr Doktor Richtoff’s preparation for high-altitude medical experiments well in hand. Himmler agreed to execution of Weizman scum. Weizman dealt with on the stairs. His bitch and brats will be Herr Doktor Richtoff’s first ‘patients’.
If Mossad had been hard on von Hei?en’s heels, how could they have missed these? There was only one explanation that made any sense to O’Connor. Mossad were so close, they would have kept pursuing him. O’Connor kept the diary with the incriminating evidence of the shootings and dropped back into Jennings’ bedroom, where he searched the bedside table. In the drawer he found the last of von Hei?en’s diaries, and nestled inside the front cover, he discovered the original huun map containing the backbearings from the volcanoes – the same one confiscated from Ariel Weizman more than seventy years ago.
Paydirt! But as O’Connor began to thumb through the pages, he heard the sound of a key turning in the front door.
Aleta was sweating profusely; twitching nervously on the pillows. The shaman knew it was time to bring her out.
‘You’re coming out of this room now, Aleta,’ he intoned gently. ‘You’re moving back towards the door through which you entered… moving back to the stone passageway… closing the door behind you. You’re calmer now… calmer.’ Aleta stopped twitching and almost immediately her breathing began to slow.
‘One… two… three,’ Jose intoned softly.
‘Was I dreaming?’ Aleta asked.
Jose smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s quite a common reaction; but no, you weren’t dreaming. That was just one of your past lives, although undoubtedly one of the more significant, and there are several reasons you’ve relived it just now.’ Arana paused, allowing Aleta to readjust to her surroundings. A cool breeze was coming in off the lake and the night was clear. Without the glow of city lights, the stars seemed far brighter and more numerous – just as they had to the Maya, centuries before.
‘Did you learn anything?’ Arana continued.
‘The laser beams… the three statues were placed on top of Pyramid I, Pyramid IV and Pyramid V… but I didn’t see where the final deflection fell.’
‘Now that you know which pyramids are in the matrix, it will be enough for you to discover the final figurine; and provided you can position all three by the winter solstice, you will still have a chance to recover the codex.’
‘With only three days left, that’s looking increasingly unlikely,’ Aleta said.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘It’s as if a great load has been lifted.’
The Mayan elder smiled. ‘Then the cleansing has been a success.’
‘I’m not sure what the golden conch shell with the keyhole outline in the middle meant, though.’ Aleta mused.
‘The significance of that, like the significance of balance, will become apparent very soon,’ Jose replied enigmatically.
Monsignor Jennings quickly checked behind him before ushering the young boy inside.
Have a seat, Eduardo. Make yourself comfortable,’ Jennings said, indicating the sofa against the staircase. He headed for the tiny kitchenette and poured himself a generous Chivas Regal, and a double shot of Johnny Walker Red Label and Coke for Eduardo. Jennings brought the Coke back and sat down beside Eduardo, recalling the wonderful words of Oscar Wilde: The great affection of an elder for a younger man… that is as pure as it is perfect… so much misunderstood that it may be described as the ‘Love that dare not speak its name’. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an elder and a younger man, when the elder man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it. Jennings knew the words by heart. He sat and admired Eduardo’s slim, taut brown form and placed his hand on Eduardo’s thigh.
‘Cien quetzales,’ Eduardo intoned woodenly.
‘Mas tarde. Later,’ Jennings said, placing Eduardo’s hand on his own growing erection.
Eduardo withdrew his hand. ‘Cien quetzales… o no contrato.’ Eduardo might have been only fourteen, but he was already street smart.
‘?Cuanto para toda la noche. How much for all night?’ Jennings asked throatily, feeling for his wallet.
