Diana traced her finger along the text. “He says this Ah k’in could speak to the gods. He mentions Huracan in particular.”
“Huracan?”
“I didn’t think Lamborghini made those babies until 2014?” Riley said.
Selena pursed her lips and stared at him, unsure if it was worth the effort. “Huracan as in the god of storms, wind and fire, chuckles.”
“Gotcha. I’ll put it in my phone for future reference.”
“Please go on, Diana,” Atticus said.
“Montesino is very clear now,” she said, re-reading some text. “I’m sure I haven’t made a mistake but he seems to imply that the Ah k’in could summon Huracan at will. He writes very clearly about how he watched him call on the god and use his divine powers to annihilate a congregation worshipping at a temple. Montesino says he witnessed it with his own eyes, including the death of another friar during a sacrifice.”
“My God…” Acosta said, “Danvers was right.”
Atticus frowned. “Wait, he watched this priest annihilating the congregation? What does he mean by that, exactly?”
Diana scanned the text again. “He says he saw him summon Huracan and bring destruction on the temple and its worshippers. He describes how he called on Huracan and channelled a terrific storm from the sky which he was able to wield like some sort of divine power, at his will.”
“Cool,” Charlie said. “Cool and yet sadly completely impossible.”
“That is what is writes,” Diana said patiently.
“But maybe he’d one too many sherries or smoked some of the local flora when he wrote it,” Riley said. “That’s possible, no?”
“Maybe, but he goes further,” Diana said. “He says local legend held that the Ah k’in was buried with the divine power of Huracan. He calls it the Doomsday Power, or the Stormbringer.”
Atticus’s voice was suddenly frail. “This really is the Doomsday Cipher obsessing Danvers all these years.”
“Sounds inviting,” Charlie said. “And in no way threatening. I like it.”
“Where was the Ah k’in buried?” Selena asked.
“In a place called Xunantunich,” she said, frowning.
“Huh?” Riley said.
“It’s an ancient Maya site,” Selena said. “It means Stone Woman.”
Diana said, “Montesino says in the jungle to the west of the site. He gives a precise map here and some directions involving something called the Jaguar Temple and another one…” she peered closer at the manuscript… “something called the High Temple, I think. He has drawn some images here of these temples in alignment. He also says there are two entrances to the burial chamber. But I don’t know where any of these things are, sorry. I’m just a translator.”
“Good job we have two archaeologists in the crew then,” Decker said.
Acosta raised a sheepish hand. “Three.”
“Sorry, three.”
“But do any of the three archaeologists know where this place is?” Charlies asked.
All three of them smiled and nodded their heads.
“Oh, yes,” Selena said. “Oh yes, indeed we do! Xunantunich is a very unique site in ancient Maya culture.”
“Why?” Riley asked.
“Mainly because it survived for so much longer than the other cities after the collapse of Maya civilization. A rich life went on in a bustling city there for around two hundred years after the rest of the civilization declined into collapse.”
“So where is it?” Charlie asked.
“I know where it is,” Decker said. “I know a guy who rents Jeeps to tourists down there.”
Selena gave him a look. “How odd.”
“Small world, huh?” he said.
“How long to get there in the Avalon?” she asked.
“A few hours, I guess.”
“In that case, Captain Decker,” Selena said, smiling, “set your compass for western Belize!”
5
Cancún, Mexico
The man they called Tarántula stared at his namesake as it crawled over the face of the dead man down at his feet. He sipped some fresh, iced water from a heavy crystal tumbler and tracked the large, hairy Mexican fireleg tarantula feeling its way over the dead man’s nose, using it like a bridge to cross from one blood-stained cheek to another. He studied its movements and mannerisms with intense interest, the way it set down its legs on the man’s cooling flesh, but never once before feeling its way forward with the hairy pedipalps protruding from either side of its fovea.
What would it do? Leave in disinterest, or try to consume part of it?
He pulled the half-empty bottle of Acqua di Cristallo from the top shelf of the refrigerator and unscrewed the little tin cap. The first half had been drunk with a woman the other night, mixed with American whiskey, but today it had taken on a Zenlike medicinal quality. He filled his glass and gazed around his large sunken living room. The space was filled with daylight, diffused by the tinted windows elegantly designed by himself so many years ago.
He sipped more of the refreshing water and stepped away from the dead man. Poor José had disappointed him one too many times. Never a good idea where Tarántula was concerned. He had been surprised José had called his bluff, such was the terror and fear he created in his underlings. But he had done, so he paid the ultimate price.
Turning to the man standing behind him at the door to his study, he said, “Any news from Acapulco, Rafa?”
“Not yet, boss.”
He gave a shallow nod. Sipped more water and stayed calm. Fought the rage away. No news was good news, after all, and Santiago Rocha had a lot to think about. A few months ago he had double-crossed Tarántula over a drugs deal and now he was a dead man walking unless he paid the money he owed, with interest.
“They still have another twenty-four hours until the deadline.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And what about the Mercados?” He now turned and fixed sharp black eyes full of evil intelligence on him,
