Serpent

With sad eyes, Donatelli watched the stone being taken away. "So that's what all those men died for."

"The killing still hasn't stopped," Austin answered grimly as he squinted at the fog, which now encased the salvage ship in a yellowgray tomb that muffled sound and light. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees. He shivered as he remembered Angelo's description of a similar fog bank that hid the Andrea Doria from eyes on the Stockholm.

"Let's check in with the captain," he suggested, and they climbed to the bridge.

Inside the wheelhouse McGinty motioned for them to come over to the radar screen and pointed to a white, blip against the green backdrop. Austin blinked. Maybe he'd been underwater too long. The blip's rapid progress across the screen was more like that of an aircraft than a boat.

"Is that vessel moving as fast as I think it is?" Zavala said.

"Goin' like a banshee," McGinty growled.

Austin tapped the screen with his finger. "Could be our bad boys."

McGinty's eyes sparkled. "When I was growing up in Southie the cops would swing the cruiser through the housing project and you'd see guys running in every direction. Cops

always found someone wanted for something. If you had a guilty conscience all you had to do was see that blue bubble atop the cruiser to get your legs moving. Same thing here, I'll bet."

"The guilty flee when none pursueth," Austin said. The blip passed other craft moving in the same direction as if they were stationary. "My guess is that those folks fleeth at about fifty knots."

McGinty let out a low whistle. "This looks like a big ship to me. I don't know of any vessels of size that can move like that."

"I do. It's called a Fast Ship. It's a new design. Company called Thornycroft and Giles makes them. They use a semiplaning monohull with water jets that eliminate propeller cavitation. Even a Fast Ship container vessel can cruise at fortyfive knots. The newer versions might even be faster. Cap, did you see any big boats around the wreck just before the attack?"

"This is a busy place." McGinty pushed his cap, back on his forehead as if it would help his memory "Lots of boats, fishermen mostly, coming or going. Did we actually see this ship? Maybe. There was a good-sized craft hunkering a mile or so away, but we lost it in the fog bank. I was busy with dive operations."

"My guess is that if we could cut through the corporate red tape, we'd find it was owned by Halcon Industries."

"Can we get air surveillance?" McGinty asked.

"Impossible in this fog. But what if we do find it? We'd need a warrant to go aboard."

Zavala had been listening silently, his mouth in an uncharacteristic frown. "Something's been bothering me," he said. "Those guys knew where we were and what we were doing. How did they know? We just decided to go after this thing a few days ago. We didn't exactly advertise our plans."

Austin and McGinty exchanged glances. "This operation involved a lot of people. Any one of them could have dropped enough of a hint to let the cat out of the bag." It was an explanation Austin didn't believe himself. His attackers were too well prepared.

Before long the wind shifted, blowing away the fog, Donatelli bid goodbye to the NUMA men and the Monkfish captain, and he and Antonio set off in the yacht. Austin promised to update the Doria survivor on NUMA's every move.

The Monkfish plowed through the fog and rounded Cape Cod, and before long they could see the lights of planes taking off and landing at Logan Airport. They steamed past the Boston Harbor Islands and tied up at a dock near the aquarium. Austin called an excited Dr. Orville and asked him to arrange for a truck to pick up the stone. Austin and Zavala followed the truck to Harvard and saw it safely under lock and key. Orville said he would work through the night to decipher the inscriptions if he had to and invited them to stay. Austin declined the invitation. He and Zavala were exhausted from the day's events and wanted to catch an early flight to Washington. After a light dinner they had a nightcap of Irish whiskey with McGinty, then crawled into their bunks and fell asleep almost immediately.

The tubular green-glassed tower of NUMA headquarters was like the welcome beacon of a lighthouse as the taxi navigated the unpredictable seas of Washington traffic. Austin and Zavala had caught the water shuttle to Logan Airport and were back in Washington by late morning. McGinty bid him adieu with a lung-shaking slap on the back and the highest of praise. Austin, he proclaimed, was a chip off his old man's block.

"Wonder what the Trouts are up to." Zavala's musings cut into his thoughts.

Austin had called their team colleagues from the salvage ship the night before to tell them about the fight in the Doria and the retrieval of the stone. Gamay said she and Paul had new information they'd share with them the next day. Austin was too tired to ask what it was. The Trouts were waiting with Hiram Yaeger in the private conference room where they held their first meeting. Rudi Gunn showed up a minute later and said Sandecker was having brunch at the White House. The vice president the admiral would have blown off, but not the president.

Gamay opened the meeting. "You've all been briefed so I won't go into the details of my Yucatan jungle adventure with Dr. Chi. As you know we discovered a stash of stolen Mayan artifacts awaiting shipment out of the country. The storage was centrally located with respect to roads and water routes. We found hundreds of objects taken from a number of important sites, known and unknown to legitimate excavators. When Dr. Chi inventoried the goods, in addition to ceramics he found a number of stone carvings, apparently removed from Mayan buildings with a diamond-edged saw. The unusual boat motif on them must have caught the eye of the chicleros. His guess was that the carvings were taken from temple observatories similar to a structure he showed me at the Mayan site called MIT There was only one problem: the carvings were not identified as to location."

She paused as Trout passed the pile of folders he'd been guarding to the others at the table. Gamay waited until the rustling of papers died down, then continued.

"The paper you see on top has eight sketches drawn by Dr. Chi. These profiles are glyphs that represent the Mayan god Quetzalcoatl, who also went by the name Kukulcan. At first glance the drawings appear identical, but if you look closer you'll see subtle differences."

Yaeger brought his quick eye for detail to the task. "Jaw's a little more prominent on this one," he said. "This one's got a thicker eyebrow"

Gunn squinted at the sketches. "This guy's nose looks as if it ran into a right cross."

Gamay smiled like a proud schoolmarm. "You catch on fast, gentlemen. These facial differences indicate a particular place. Each city or urban center interpreted the god in a way that was peculiar to it." '

"Like the owl was the symbol of ancient Athens?" Austin ventured.

"Correct. In this case the god also represents the planet Venus."

Austin stirred impatiently in his seat, his eyes glazing over.

He was expecting to hear information with a direct bearing on the case, not a lecture on Mayan theology.

"Gamay, this is all very interesting," he said, making no effort to hide his impatience, "but I'm not sure where you're going with it."

She flashed her disarming tomboy grin. "These glyphs were all incorporated into carvings of the boat motif."

Austin's interest was piqued. He leaned forward. "The Phoenician boat?"

"We don't know yet for sure whether it was Phoenician or not. But, yes, the inscriptions apparently marked the event we saw, strange boats and strange people being received by Mayans."

Paul Trout chipped in. "Dr. Chi had already guessed that the carvings came from temple observatories. Dr. Chi used the city glyphs to pinpoint the location of the observatories. Mayan observatories are scattered all over Central America. But only eight, as far as he knew, have that particular boat theme."

Austin said, "You've got eight identical observatories at separate locations, dedicated to Venus, keyed into its cycles, and all having something to do with a mysterious fleet of boats."

"That's right," Gamay said, resuming her explanation. And the number eight goes to the heart of the matter." Noting .the blank expressions, she said, "Quetzalcoatl and Kukulcan were incarnations of the Maya's most important god, Venus. The Maya plotted the planet's course with incredible accuracy. They knew there were eight days in the Venus cycle when the planet disappeared. The Mayans believed Venus went to the underworld during that time. They used architectural features to keep track of Venus and other celestial objects. Doorways, sculptures, pillars. The placement of streets. Professor Chi thinks these observatories were part of a greater plan. A map. Chart. Even a crude computer meant to solve a problem."

"Like the problem of the Phoenician, excuse me, the as-yet-unidentified boats?" Austin said.

"Exactly" Paul replied. "Page two in your folder is a map showing the locations."

Another rustle of papers.

Gamay said, "We tried connecting the temples, drawing parallel lines from them. Nothing made sense. While we were tearing our hair out we got a call from Dc Chi. He had come in from the field for supplies and heard we were trying to get in touch. We told him we were groping in the dark for something we were sure was there and needed his help."

Paul announced, "Page three in your folder, gentlemen. Dc Chi had this faxed from the national museum. The Spanish destroyed all but a few of the Mayan books. Thus is one of the few that survived. The Dresden Codex. It has detailed observation tables for Venus. The data were collected from observatories."

"What bearing does it have on our mystery?" Gunn inquired.

"Mainly as an example of the type of information that was so important to the Maya," Gamay replied. "Try to imagine the Mayan priests night after night gazing at the stars. They collect the information on the movement of the stars, then, using architectural features built into these same temples; forecast what the stars and planets would do." .

"I've got it," blurted Yaeger. "Sometimes it helps to be a nerd. You're saying that these eight temples and the carvings are the hardware. The Codex would be the software that tells the hardware what to do." Yaeger blinked rapidly behind his wirerimmed glasses. "Carrying the analogy forward, the physical form of software can be soft; like the floppy disk that contains the program, or hard, like the hard drive."

"Or for our purposes, hard as stone," " Austin said.

"Bingo!" Gamay said. "What geniuses we have at NUMA."

Galvanized now, Austin ticked the points off on his fingertips. "One. We have eight temples dedicated to the temple Venus. Two. The temples are set up in a way, that will help us solve a puzzle having to do with those mysterious boats and their cargo. Three The talking stone tells us how to operate it."

"I wasn't positive until Dr. Orville called this morning He found the same eight glyphs on the stone. There's a fax of the tablet in your folder. The inscription is composed of three main elements. The glyphs and a condensed rendition of the boat landings are the first and second elements."

Any idea why the ship is about to be eaten by the big snake?" Zavala asked, looking at the fax.

"That's element number three," Gamay explained. "The feathered serpent is the earthly embodiment of Quetzalcoatl Kuloulcan."

"Ali," Zavala said. "That certainly clears things up."

"Look at it this way" Gamay said. "The glyphs tell you where. The boat inscription tells you what. The serpent tells you how. Look at the Kukulcan. Tell me what you see."

"Feathers mostly" Gunn said after a moment.

"No," Yeager said. "There's something else. The feathers are confusing. Look at the jaws. It's some sort of grid."

"Bravo." Gamay dapped, dearly delighted. "Our computer guru goes to the head of the class."

"I don't know why" Yaeger said with a shrug. "Damned if I know what I'm talking about."

"Check out the next picture in your folder. This shows one of those eight temples. Pretty typical. Cylindrical, balcony around the top, frieze on the bottom part. Take a close look at those two vertical slit windows. We assumed they were used for some sort of astronomical calculation. We made an educated guess that the windows lined up with Venus at the extremes of its position in the sky. It still didn't make sense until Paul had the idea of looking down on the temples, as if we were in an airplane."

Picking up the explanation, Paul held up the last sheet in the folder. "We extended the lines from each window and found that they intersected."

"I'll be damned," Yaeger said. "It's the same grid as in the feathered serpent."

Gamay nodded. "I started thinking about it when I noticed the grid reminded me of an amulet I once borrowed from Dr. Chi. The jaws of Kukulcan."

Gunn said, "Weren't we talking about Columbus depending on some kind of grid?"

"That's right," Paul said. "Orville's theory is that Columbus tried to use this stone but was at a disadvantage to start with. He knew there was treasure but couldn't decipher the glyphs. He had drawings made from the stone to take on the Nina, probably hoping to find someone who would translate for him."

Austin had been staring at the diagram. "Back when Columbus sailed the ocean blue, navigators had maps with straight lines called rhumbs on them. Someone sailing from Spain to Hispanola chose the line giving him the most direct route and set a compass course. You'd end up where you were supposed to be, as long as you weren't messed up by current and winds. Columbus may have wrongly thought these lines were rhumbs. The Maya were a lot more sophisticated than he knew. Were you able to work this out on a map?"

"It didn't make sense at first," Paul said. "Venus would have been in a different position in the sky a couple of thousand years ago. We had to do some recomputing. Our guess is that the V-shaped intersection of the jaws, here where you see the boat, is where something is located."

Austin had another question. "How long do you think it will take Halcon to figure this out?"

The Trouts exchanged glances. Paul said, "There have been. reports of Columbus papers and Mayan documents being stolen from various museums. I suspect Mr. Halcon has been trying to piece things together, but we've got the stone, and now we know how to use it."

"We'd better get moving on this in case Halcon's smarter than we think," Austin said.

Gunn cleared his throat and squared the edges of his papers. "With all due respect, Kurt, maybe before we go jumping into the jaws of Kukulcan we had better figure out what all this is about. Starting with Halcon and why he is causing so much trouble."

"I see your point. Okay I'll start the ball rolling. Here's my theory. Like Columbus, Halcon is after the Phoenician treasure that was removed from Carthage. The key to finding the stuff lies in pre-Columbian evidence. He doesn't want anyone else to step on his turf so he destroys the evidence and those who have found it."

"I've considered that theory and think it's on the mark," Gunn said, "but it's only part of the picture. I asked Yaeger to compile a detailed dossier on Halcon. Tell us about his finances, Hiram."

Yaeger glanced at a computer printout in front of him. "Between his family fortune and widespread holdings, he's worth billions, and that's a conservative guess."

"Thanks, Hiram. That's what bothers me, Kurt. Why would Halcon go through all this trouble of killing people, attacking you on the Andrea Doria and trying to steal the so-called talking stone, just so he can find a treasure, however fabulous? He has more money than any normal person could ever want."

"You may have answered your own question," Austin countered. "You said a normal person. From what Zavala told us about the ball court executions, Halcon sounds like a madman."

"I've considered that possibility, too. But I think Senor Halcon is a lot more complicated than a bored rich eccentric who takes up treasure hunting for a hobby. Hiram, would you run through the other material you picked up on the gentleman?"

Adjusting his granny glasses, Yaeger said, "Francisco Halcon was born in Spain of a family that goes back centuries. Halcon, which means 'falcon,' was apparently not the real family name, which I was unable to determine. He went to expensive private schools in Switzerland and attended college in England. Oxford man, Yaeger said with a smirk. "He became a bullfighter known as El Halcon and didn't do too badly but left the toro business under a cloud of scandal. He was said to have put poison on the tip of his killing sword, so even if he didn't hit the bull's vitals it would die."

"Hardly seems sporting for an Oxford man," Austin said in a stage British accent.

"Cambridge maybe, but not Oxford," Zavala said.

Yaeger shrugged. "From the bullring he went into one of the family businesses. The Halcons were very thick with the dictator Franco and the Spanish military before and during the war and made a lot of money on armaments. After Franco died and the king returned and restored democracy. Halcon's business activities came under suspicion. Interpol says he was suspected of being tied to a Spanish Murder Inc. He left the country and came to Mexico where a branch of his family that goes back to the Spanish conquest owned a number of businesses. Halcon took over the U.S. operations, used his money and influence to cultivate political connections, and in short time became an American citizen."

"He's done pretty well from what I saw of the companies under his aegis in San Antonio," Zavala said.

"The American dream personified," Gunn added, not attempting to conceal his sarcasm.

"In more ways than one," said Yaeger. "His legitimate businesses were just a cover for shady operations on both sides of the border. He's suspected of largescale drug and immigrant smuggling from Mexico."

"That would mean he is close to the ruling party in Mexico," Zavala said. "No big business, legal or illegal, escapes their attention."

"Fits in with the way the family operated in Spain and the United States," Austin said. "Has anyone ever mentioned the Brotherhood?"

'As I say, he was supposedly tied to a Spanish Mafia organization," Yaeger replied. "They could be one and the same, although I don't have confirmation."

"What about that complex I saw outside San Antonio?" Zavala asked. "What's the story on that?"

"Owned by one of his corporations. Perfectly legal, according to the local licensing authorities. He's considered something of a nut, but a rich nut, so if he wanted to build his own personal theme park, who's to stop him? By the way, the plans for the complex show the ball court as a soccer field."

"That wasn't like any game of soccer I ever saw," Zavala said soberly.

"The locals have heard explosions from time to time and report an unusual amount of traffic, but other than that he's a good neighbor who pays his taxes."

"Hiram has saved the best for last," Gunn said.

"It took time, because of the front companies and interlocking corporations and foundations, but Halcon Industries has been spreading all over the Southwest and California. Halcon controls banks, real estate, political figures, newspapers, anything that's for sale."

"Evidently he's trying to increase his power as well as his wealth," Austin said. "No different from any other corporation with its armies of lobbyists."

"Interesting that you should use the word army," Gunn said. "On a whim I ran some of Hiram's findings by the ATF. They immediately caught a whiff of something that smelled very bad. They recognized the name of one of Halcon's companies as an outfit that has been buying arms from the Czech Republic and China."

"What sort of arms?"

"You name it. Everything from infantry rifles to tanks. Lots of missiles, too. SAMs. Antitank. That sort of stuff. The ATF got a search warrant for the company that was handling the shipments. It was an empty office."

"Where has all this stuff been going?"

"Specifically? Nobody knows. Generally, northern Mexico, the Southwest states, and California."

Arms purchases like the ones you've described cost money, big money"

Gunn nodded. "Even a billionaire might become strapped spending enough on arms to start a revolution."

The room became silent as the last word in Gunn's statement hung in the air.

"Madre mia," Zavala whispered. "The treasure. He needs the treasure to do what he wants to do."

"That was my take," Gunn said quietly. "It sounds loony, but he seems to be planning some sort of combined military and political takeover."

Any indication when this is supposed to happen?" Austin said.

"Soon is my guess. Hiram's sources have detected a lot of money being moved around Europe through Swiss bank accounts to arms dealers. He's going to have to replace that in a hurry if he wants to stay off the bad credit report. Which means. he'll be desperate to find the treasure."

"What about our armed forces?"

"On alert. Even if he is stopped militarily a lot of innocent blood will be shed."

"There's another way to stop him. No treasure, no revolution," Zavala said.

"Thanks, Paul and Gamay, you and Dr. Orville have done a great job of pointing us in the right direction," Austin said He rose from his seat and glanced at the faces around the table. "Now it's our turn," he said with a grim smile.

The elegant dining room was largely in darkness except for the center table where Angelo Donatelli sat going over the next day's menu. Donatelli's restaurant was done in a Nantucket motif, but unlike other places with a nautical theme, the decorations did not come from a mail-order house. The harpoons and flensing irons had actually pierced whale flesh, and the primitive paintings of sailing ships were all originals. Antonio sat opposite Donatelli, an Italian newspaper spread out on the spotless white tablecloth. Occasionally they sipped at a glass of amaretto. Neither was aware they were no longer alone until they heard the quiet voice say, "Mr. Donatelli?"

Angelo looked up and saw two figures standing just beyond the circle of illumination. How the devil did these people get in? He had locked the front door himself. The afterhours visit itself didn't surprise him. The waiting period was weeks for a reservation, and people tried all sorts of stunts to shortcut the process. The voice was vaguely familiar, too, which persuaded him that it might be one of his clientele.

"I'm Angelo Donatelli," he said with his unfailing politeness.

"I'm afraid you've come too late, the restaurant is closed. If you would call tomorrow the maitre d' will do what he can to accommodate you."

"You can accommodate me by telling your man to place his gun on the table."

From his lap, Antonio lifted the revolver he had slipped out of his shoulder holster and slowly placed it on the table.

"If you've come to rob us, you're too late for that, too," Donatelli said. "All our cash has been deposited at the bank." .

. "We haven't come to rob you. We've come to kill you."

"Kill us. We don't even know who you are."

In answer, the figure stepped forward into the light, revealing a dark-complexioned slender man who took Antonio's gun and tucked it into the belt of his one-piece black suit. Angelo's gaze lingered for a second on the pistol with its barrel extended into a silencer, but it was the man's thin dark features that sent a chill down his spine. It was a face he had seen in a dream. No. A nightmare. A brief glimpse of an assassin who glanced his way deep in the hold of a dying ship. Incredibly it hadn't aged in more than forty years.

"I saw you on the Andrea Doria, " Donatelli said with wonder.

The man's thin lips curled into a cold smile. "You have a good memory for faces," he said. "But that was my late father. He told me he sensed someone else was in the hold that night. You and I, too, have a more intimate relationship. I talked to you once on the telephone."

Now Donatelli remembered the call coming late at night, waking him out of a sound sleep with the threats against him and his family.

"The Brotherhood," he whispered.

"You have a good memory for names as well. It's a pity you didn't remember my warnings about what would happen if you couldn't keep your mouth shut. Normally I don't micromanage the everyday operations of my organization, but you've caused me a great deal of trouble, old man. Do you recall what I said?"

Donatelli nodded, his mouth too dry to reply

"Good. Let me imprint it in your mind. I warned that if you talked about that night on the Andrea Doria, you would go to your grave knowing that you caused the death of every member of your family we can find. Sons. Daughters. Grandchildren. Every one. The Donatelli family will cease to exist except for a collection of headstones in a family plot."

"You can't do such a thing!" Donatelli replied, regaining his voice.

"You have only yourself to blame. There are great forces at work here. No one forced you to talk to NUMA."

"No." Antonio spoke for the first time. "The family was not part of the deal," he said.

Angelo turned to his cousin. "What is he talking about?"

Antonio's battered face was contorted with guilt.

The man said, "Your cousin didn't tell you that he was working for me. He refused at first, but you have no idea of the pull his homeland had on him. We told him that in return for keeping us informed through you about NUMAs activities, I would solve his problems with the authorities back in Sicily"

"Si," Antonio said, jutting his jaw out like Mussolini. "But not the family. You get me back to Sicily. That was the deal."

"I keep my word. I just didn't say that you would be returning home in a pine box. But you first, Mr. Donatelli. Arrivederci. "

Antonio rose from his chair with a feral cry of rage and threw himself in front of his cousin. The pistol made a thus quieter than a door shutting. A red blossom flowered on the front of Antonio's shirt, and he crumpled to the floor.

The gun coughed again.

With no one to block it this time, the next bullet caught Donatelli in the chest and he crashed over backward in his chair as Antonio reached back and filled his hand with the six-inch Beretta from his ankle holster. He propped himself up on his elbows and aimed the gun at Halcon. Magically, a neat round hole appeared in the center of Antonio's forehead, and he slumped forward onto the floor, his shot going wild.

The second figure stepped from the shadows, the gun in his hand smoking. He glanced impassively at the man he had just killed. "Never trust a Sicilian," he said quietly.

"Good work, Guzman. I should have expected treachery. Sitting in an office has made me rusty when it comes to field operations."

"You're welcome to come along when we take care of the rest of the family" Guzman said, his eyes glittering.

"Yes, I'd like that. Unfortunately it will have to wait. We have more pressing business." Turning his attention to Angelo, he said, "Too bad you can't hear this, Donatelli. I've decided to spare your family for a little while until we clean up the mess you helped create. Don't despair You'll soon see your loved ones in hell."

Voices were coming from outside the restaurant where Antonio's shot had caught the attention of passersby. Halcon took one last look at the still bodies, then he and his scarfaced companion melted into the darkness.

Guatemala

46 "HOW OLD DID YOU SAY THIS PLANE was?" Austin shouted over the cockpit noise from the single engine.

About fifty years, give or take a few," Zavala yelled back. "The owner says it's got all its original parts, too. Except for the fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror, maybe." Seeing the alarm in Austin's face, Zavala grinned. "Just kidding, Kurt. I checked. The engine's been overhauled so many times it's practically new. Hope we'll be in as good a shape when we get this old."

"If we get to be this old," Austin said skeptically, glancing out the window at the inhospitable terrain below.

"Not to worry, old chap. The De Havilland Beaver was one of the finest bush planes ever built. This crate is as tough as a tank. Just what the doctor ordered."

Austin eyed the plastic statue of St. Christopher attached to the control panel by a suction cup, sat back in his seat, and folded his arms. When he suggested to Zavala that they find something unobtrusive to fly, he hadn't envisioned the antique Beaver with its quaint boxy lines, two-blade propeller, and blunt unaerodynamic nose. He simply wanted an alternative to an army helicopter that couldn't violate the airspace of Mexico's neighboring countries without permission. Even a NUMA aircraft, with its turquoise paint job and big official lettering, would have raised eyebrows.

They found the Beaver hidden by a painter's canvas drop cloth in the dark corner of a dilapidated out-of-the-way hangar at the Belize City airport. Zavala's eyes lit up like Christmas luminarias. He rubbed his hands together, itching to get them on the controls. Only one other plane would have elicited a stronger reaction, Austin thought. Luckily the Wright Brothers' invention was in the Smithsonian, which is where this plane belonged.

Like Shakespeare's Cassius, the Belizan who owned the plane had a lean and hungry look. He talked barely above a whisper and often glanced over his shoulder as if he were expecting unwanted visitors. He had been recommended to Austin by a former CIA colleague who served in clandestine operations helping the Contras fight the Sandinistas. Judging from his prudent suggestions about cargo handling and discreet landing areas it was evident he thought his two American customers were drug smugglers. Given the CIA's shady operations in Central America, that came as no surprise. He asked no questions and insisted he be paid what he called a security deposit, big enough to buy himself a Boeing 747, in dollars. As he carefully counted every bill to make sure he wasn't being cheated, he warned them to keep in mind Guatemala's territorial claims over Belize and do whatever they could to blend into the background. Austin observed that might be impossible with the bright mustard-yellow paint covering the old plane. The man shrugged and disappeared into the shadows with his wad of bills.

Austin had to admit the plane was better suited for the job than a newer and flashier aircraft would have been. It wasn't exactly the Concorde. Yet with a cruising speed of one hundred twenty-five miles per hour it ate up distance and was slow enough to serve as an ideal flying observation platform. Moreover, it was designed for short takeoff and landing on water or land.

Zavala was keeping the plane below three thousand feet. They were flying over the Peten, the thickly forested northern part of Guatemala that juts squarely into Mexico. The territory below had started as flat terrain and worked itself up to low rolling hills broken by rivers and their tributaries. It was once thickly settled by the Maya who used the rivers for intercity commerce, and several times they had glimpsed gray ruins through the trees. The distant peaks of the Maya Mountains rose from the haze off to the south. Austin marked their progress on a clipboard that held a map with the grid overlay on acetate. He referred constantly to the compass and the GPS finder.

"We're coming up on the junction point, where the jaws meet," he said,. pointing to the map. He glanced at his watch. "Another thirty seconds should put us there." Austin peered out the window again. They were following a squiggle of river that meandered back and forth like blue Christmas ribbon candy and widened into the small lake dead ahead. Seconds later Austin pointed at the shimmering water. "That's it. The jaws of Kukulcan."

"We should have brought the mini-sub," Zavala said.

"Let's make a few runs around the lake. If we don't run into ack-ack fire we'll set her down."

Zavala breathed on his aviator-style sunglasses, wiped the lenses on a sleeve, and adjusted them on his nose. He gave the thumbsup sign and banked the plane so the horizon . tilted sharply. Zavala brought the same flying techniquea combination of F16 jockey and fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants barn-stormer to whatever vehicle he controlled, whether it was a submersible or an airplane that was built when Harry Truman was starting his first term as president.

The lake looked like a huge staring eye from the air. It was oval in shape and had a small island about where the pupil would be. It was small, about half a mile in length and half as wide. The river shot off at a sharp angle and curved around the lake until it intersected with water flowing from an outlet at the other end. Austin decided the lake must be replenished by springs or streams hidden by the trees.

The Beaver wheeled twice around the lake, but they saw nothing out of the ordinary. With the way apparently clear, Zavala pointed the plane down as if he wanted to drill a hole in the water. At the last moment he pulled the nose up like a dive bomber and leveled off nicely until the white floats kissed the surface. The plane skimmed along like a flat stone, throwing off twin rooster tails before finally coming .to a rolling halt about midway between shore and island. Austin kicked open the door as the propeller spun to a choking halt. With the engine stopped a palpable silence enveloped the cockpit. Zavala radioed the ship with a position report, and Austin scanned the lake, the low cliffs, and the island with his binoculars, taking his time until he was sure, as far as possible, that they were alone.

"Everything looks fine," he said, lowering the binoculars. He squinted toward the middle of the lake. "Something about that island bothers me."

Zavala leaned over Austin's shoulder and pulled his baseball cap lower over his forehead to shield his eyes against the sun sparkle. "It looks perfectly okay to me."

"That's the problem. The placement is too perfect. If you drew lines shore-to-shore from north to south and east to west, that island would be at the intersection, like a target in the crosshairs of a rifle scope. Exact center."

Zavala restarted the engine and gave the propeller enough power to pull them along at a couple of knots. Then he cut throttle and let the plane drift closer to the island. They threw an anchor over the side and estimated from the length of the tethering line that the lake was more than one hundred feet deep. They inflated a rubber raft, climbed into it from the plane's pontoons, and paddled the short distance to the island, pulling the raft up onto the grasscovered mud. Austin estimated the island at about thirty feet across. It looked like the misshapen shell of a giant turtle, rising quickly from the water to a roundish summit about fifteen feet high. Undeterred by the thick growth of ferns and succulents, Zavala climbed up the slope. Near the top he let out a yell and stepped back as if recoiling from an invisible punch.

Austin's body tensed and his hand went to the pistol at his hip. "What's wrong?" he shouted. His first thought was that Joe had stumbled onto a nest of adders,

Zavala's peals of laughter startled a flock of white birds into the air like confetti blown in the wind.

"The island is occupied, Kurt. Come up and I'll introduce you to the landlord."

Austin quickly climbed the small hill and peered at the toothy skeleton jaw grinning behind the bushes, He pushed the leaves aside to reveal a grotesque stone head about twice life size, carved into the lintel over a squared-off opening. The opening was set into the side of a block-shaped structure that was buried in loose soil almost to the top of its flat, crenelated roof and decorated with a border of skulls similar to but smaller than the one they first saw. Using a sheath knife, Austin dug away at the dirt and enlarged the opening so Zavala could get his head and shoulders in.

Zavala flashed a light around inside. "I think I can squeeze in." He wriggled through the opening feet first.

Austin heard a loud sneeze, then Zavala saying, "Bring a Dust Buster with you." Austin worked to enlarge the opening, then he followed Zavala inside.

He looked around. "Not exactly the Hilton." His words echoed.

The box-like space was the size of a two-car garage. The walls were thick enough to repel a direct hit from a cannon. Austin's head almost touched the low roof. The plastered walls were plain except for dark blotches that covered most of their surface and four floor-to-ceiling portals like the one they had just come through. The doorways were clogged by rootbound earth that was as hard as cement.

"Dunno, Kurt. It's got a lot to offer. Water view. Simple decor."

"This is what the real estate guys call a handyman's special." .

"Comes with a cellar, too." Zavala flashed his light into a comer.

Austin knelt to inspect a massive flagstone in the floor. It was perforated by several holes along the edge. Using their knives, they pried it open and slid the flagstone aside to reveal a stairway spiraling down. Since Zavala had been first into the building, Austin volunteered to investigate. He descended the short curving flight of stairs to a passageway that went a few yards before it was blocked by a huge slab. Austin played the beam of his flashlight over the slab.

"You'd better get down here," he said quietly.

Sensing the seriousness in Austin's tone, Zavala quickly joined him. Lying on the floor in front of the slab was a pile of bones. Unlike the death'shead sculpture they had seen earlier, the six skulls they counted were once covered with flesh. Zavala picked up a skull and held it at arm's length like Hamlet contemplating the remains of Yorick.

"Sacrificial victims. From the looks of that hole in the skull, they were put but of their misery so they didn't have to starve to death."

"The executioners were all heart," Austin said, examining the slab for a seam. "The only way to get around this thing is with a jackhammer or dynamite."

Austin had seen enough. They climbed back to the upper chamber where Austin noticed several bleached white fragments on the floor. He picked one up only to have it crumble to powder in his hand.

"Freshwater shellfish," he said. "This place was underwater at one time."

Zavala brushed the dirty walls with his fingers. "You could be right. This looks like dried pond scum."

They climbed back into the fresh air and explored the perimeter of the structure. It was built onto a stone platform that had become the catchall for material floating in the lake. Seeds, probably brought in by birds, had sprouted, and their roots kept the dirt from blowing away Looking straight down into the water at the edge of the island, it was possible to see a stone terrace. Austin kicked off his boots and slipped into the water, swam out a few strokes, and dove.

"This thing is like the tip of an iceberg," he said when he resurfaced. "It was probably a temple on top of a very big pyramid. Can't tell how far it goes."

"Told you we should have brought a submarine," Zavala replied as he gave Austin a hand back onto dry land. "So if what we think is true, and that building is a temple, we're at ground zero. The jaws."

All we have to do is figure out how to get into the gullet."

"Lovely thought. We could try blowing that slab blocking the way"

"Yeah, we could do that, and it might even work But it's not exactly a surgical approach. Our archaeologist friends would never speak to us again. Let's think about it while we look around."

They got back in the plane and taxied to the end of the lake, where they went ashore and made their way inland. The forest was in semidarkness except for the mottled sunlight filtering through the tree canopy. The trees discouraged undergrowth, making for an easy hike on a carpet of leaves. Austin followed a babble of water to its source and stopped where the river they had seen from the air was flanked by stone foundations. The river bed between the foundations was filled with earth and vegetation, but several streams flowed from the substantial reservoir that had built up behind the crude dam and around the old barricade toward the lake. The main course of the river turned abruptly just before it hit the foundations and angled off into the forest. Austin followed the rushing waters away from the reservoir and stopped again at a similar pair of foundations.

"Just as I thought," he said.

Zavala was impressed. "How'd you know these things would be here?"

"Would you believe it if I said I was a dam genius?"

Zavala winced. "Of course I would. Now tell me how you really knew."

Austin picked up a branch, threw it into the river, and watched it disappear from sight in the fastmoving bubble and foam. "You remember how this river looks from the air? I think you said it had more wiggles than a belly dancer. Just before it comes into the lake, it angles off in a perfectly straight line. My first impression was that the section was too straight to be natural. Like. that temple in the center of the lake. Nothing in nature is absolutely perfect. Maybe it was a canal, I thought. You know the Chesapeake and Ohio historical park north above Washington?"

"One of my favorite places for a cheap first date," Zavala said with a smile built of fond memories. "Muy romantico. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Think about that temple. Sometimes it's underwater. Sometimes it isn't."

Austin could almost hear. the gears whirring as Zavala's brilliant mechanical mind processed the information. He slapped his forehead. "Of course. The locks."

Austin cleared a bare spot on the ground and picked up a short stick. He handed it to Zavala. "Be my guest, Professor Z."

Zavala drew a line in the dirt. "This is the Potomac River. You can't move boats up and down, the river because of the rapids and falls, so you cut a canal around the white water. Here." He tapped the ground. "You build a system of gates and sluices to control the water level in the canal one section at a time. Let's see if I'm right." He drew an oval representing the lake. "In its normal state the river comes in here at the top,, fills the flood plain to create the lake, then flows out the bottom, keeps going until it comes to the sea."

"Good so far, Professor."

At some point unknown engineers put a dam here." Zavala drew a line across the top of the lake. "This blocks the water into the lake, but it's got to go somewhere or else it ends up sweeping around the gate." He drew a straight line away from the lake. "You cut this canal, and the water is diverted away from the lake to another riverbed." He looked up, triumph in his dark eyes. Now you can drain the lake."

"And build the temple. Here." Austin drew an X in the dirt with the tip of his boot.

Zavala picked up the narrative. After you lay the last stone of the pyramid, you close the canal sluice, open the lake gate. The lake refills in no time and hides the temple. Ergo . . ."

"Ergo, ipso facto, and voila! Only problem is, the sluice gate is made of moving parts. In time the gate deteriorates with no public works department to maintain it. What's left of the Mayan civilization is being crushed into dust by the Spaniards. That curve is a natural catch-all for anything floating down the river. Junk builds up in front of the lake gate like a dike, the canal sluice rots open, and the river is diverted away from the lake again. The lake is fed by a few streams, but eventually the water level drops, exposing the top of the temple. Which becomes overgrown with vegetation."

"So if we wait long enough," Zavala said, "the lake will eventually drop to where the temple is completely exposed again. Unless the water pressure from that reservoir busts through the old dam and raises the lake level."

Austin pondered Zavala's statement and nodded. "I'll tell you the rest of my theory on the way back."

As they walked through the forest Zavala got his revenge. "You've got to admit that's a damn nice piece of engineering."

It was Austin's turn to ignore the pun. "I agree. It allowed them to drain the lake again if they wanted to. That leaves open the possibility that they might want to reenter the temple. The entryway on top could be a blind. Like one of the false entrances they built into the Egyptian pyramids to fool grave robbers. I wouldn't be surprised if that's why they put the skeletons there, just for stage props."

"Some stage. Some props," Zavala said.

"Let's call in an air drop when we get back to the plane."

Minutes later, from the plane, Zavala radioed their wish list to the Nereus. He raised a quizzical eyebrow over one of the items Austin requested but asked no questions.

While they waited they had something to eat, then lounged in the shade until the radio crackled with a message. "Coming in, boys. ETA ten minutes."

Exactly on time a turquoise helicopter with NUMA lettering on the side came in low over the lake, hovered near the plane, and dropped a large box wrapped in heavy plastic and buoyed by airfilled floats. The helicopter crew watched the men below snag the delivery, then waved goodbye and clattered off the way they'd come. ,

Inside the box were two sets of scuba gear and several cartons. Austin loaded the boxes in the raft and paddled back to the upper end of the lake while Zavala moved the plane .to an indentation in the shoreline. Zavala knew better than to ask Austin what he had planned. Kurt would tell him when he needed to know.

Zavala covered the plane with a fishing net and was weaving branches into it when Austin showed up in the raft to help him finish the job. The cartons were gone. Satisfied their plane was well hidden, they piled their scuba gear into the raft and set off for the island, where they swept away traces of their previous visit. The raft was deflated and sunk in shallow water with rocks piled on top to hold it under. The water was warm, so they wore only lightweight black Lycra skins rather than the thicker neoprene wetsuits.

Without comment Austin tucked the small pouch he was wearing around his neck into a waterproof pocket. After a quick check of their equipment, they breaststroked away from the island and, wasting no time, they let the air out of their buoyancy compensators and began to sink into the dark waters of the lake.

47WITH SMOOTH. STEADY MOVEMENTS of their fins, they swam down and away from the temple at an angle until they were at the lake bottom, dwarfed by the imposing mass of tapering stone. The broad terraced levels spilled down the side of the pyramid like giant steps.

"That's some hunk of rock," Austin said, his awe undiminished by the metallic tone of his underwater communicator.

"Good thing we're not superstitious. I counted thirteen terraces."

"Knock wood on that score," Austin said. He glanced at his depth gauge. "One hundred fourteen feet. Ready to dive the plan?"

Longlived divers remember the mantra: plan the dive, and dive the plan. Their strategy was simple. Explore each of the four sides top to bottom. They moved counterclockwise around the pyramid. It stood entirely alone, which made Austin wonder if the pyramid had been built with a single purpose in mind. The next side was like the first, and they spent only a few minutes exploring it. They hit pay dirt on the third try.

Where the other sides were relatively unadorned, this face was marked by a broad set of stairs running from the temple at the top down to what would have been ground level in drier days. At the foot of the stairs, standing in solitary grandeur like a doorman in front of a swank Las Vegas hotel, was a stone slab. The stela stood vertically in a foundation on the lake bottom.

Zavala played the sharp white beam of his handheld halogen light across the dark surface. After a second he said, "Look familiar?"

Austin eyed the carving of a feathered serpent devouring a boat. "Small world. It's a twin of the stone from the Doria. " He lifted his eyes to the stairway running up the side of the pyramid. "Reminds me of that slab that kept showing up in the movie 2001. Maybe this little old billboard is telling us something."

With Zavala on his right and slightly behind, he drifted up the stairway like a lazy plume of smoke. The stairs were bordered with carvings, and in addition there were sculpted heads spaced every few risers. About halfway up, the huge stylized face of a serpent burst from its crown of feathers. The mouth, large enough to swallow a man, was wide open, in strike position. Thick blunt fangs about the size and shape of traffic pylons extended down from the roof of the mouth to meet a matching pair pointing up.

"Friendlylooking fellow," said Zavala. "You don't suppose he bites?"

"Meet the feathered serpent. Known in these parts as Kukulcan."

"He looks like a cross between a Rottweiler and an alligator. Ask him if he knows how to get into the pyramid."

"Maybe that's not such a dumb idea." With a few fin kicks Austin propelled himself closer to the yawning maw and probed the shadows with his light. "Say 'ah,' " he said, and headed straight in. His air tank bonked and scraped against the thick fangs, but once inside there was room to turn around. He stuck his head out of the mouth, invited Zavala in with a wave, then headed deeper into the pyramid, his light picking out footholds in the slanting floor. They swam down at an angle for about two minutes, slowly and cautiously, until the passageway ended in a chamber big enough for both of them to stand up. A set of stairs ascended into another passageway.

"I feel like a load of dirty clothes that's just gone down a laundry chute. That was too easy," Zavala said suspiciously.

"I was thinking the same thing. But remember, the people who built this thing knew it was going to be underwater. They probably figured that anyone trying to get in would waste time breaking through the slab just below the temple. And that even if they saw this entrance they wouldn't go into the serpent's mouth. Just the same," he added, "keep a sharp eye for booby traps."

They rose up the stairs like ghosts in a haunted house. Austin could hear Zavala grumbling. "Wish they'd make up their mind, man. Down. Up."

Austin sympathized with his partner's gripes. Even an experienced wreck diver can't always put aside those formless claustrophobic fears that the thousands of tons of rock overhead could come crashing down. Even worse, that they could be trapped, unable to move, doomed to die a painful suffocating death. He was glad when his head broke the water. Zavala popped up a second later. They flashed their lights around the circular pool. Zavala reached up to take his regulator from his mouth.

Austin's hand shot out and clamped Zavala's wrist. "Wait!" he warned. "We don't know if the air is good."

The atmosphere could be more than two thousand years old. Austin didn't know if any microorganisms, spores, or toxins could have been built up in all that time, but he wasn't willing to take the chance. He pulled himself out of the pool and removed his fins and belt, then helped Zavala do the same. They climbed the stairwell to where the floor leveled. The noise of their breath through the regulators sounded unnaturally loud out of the water.

The long, narrow chamber had a high vaulted roof supported by arches, built in tire corbeled fashion that the Maya favored with levels of horizontally laid blocks. Austin's flashlight beam dropped from the roof and picked out an elongated head with pointed ears and flared nostrils.

Zavala said, "Is that what I think it is?"

A horse is a horse."

"Of course, of course. But what the hell is Mr. Ed doing here?"

Austin lowered his flashlight so that the beam illuminated the horse's long wooden neck "Well, I'll be . . . it's a figurehead."

The wooden sculpture of the horse surmounted the high sweeping bow of a boat with shiny dark red sides. The prow was extended into a pointed battering ram. The builders of this boat were true artists, Austin thought as they walked alongside the hull. The craft was a double-ender, long, narrow, and flat-bottomed, sweeping up at each end in graceful curves and tight as a tick from the looks of the well-fitted overlapping planks. The mast lay lengthwise on the deck.

Deck planks had fallen in to reveal dozens of amphorae in the hold. Scattered about were circular metal objects that may have been shields. Two long oars, their blades curled by age, leaned against the ship's backside as if waiting for the hands of long-dead steersmen. The boat sailed not on an azure sea but on a stone cradle. While most of the timbers were intact, some had rotted through so that the ship leaned at a slight angle.

"She's a lot prettier in person," Zavala murmured.

Austin ran his hand along the wood as if he didn't quite believe his eyes. "It's not just me, then. This is one of the ships pictured on the stelae and other carvings." .

"What's a Phoenician boat doing in an underwater Mayan temple?"

"Waiting to overturn every archaeological assumption ever made," Austin said. "Wait until Nina sets her eyes on this lovely lady. We'll have to give her some specs to chew over until we can get a camera in here. What do you figure for length?"

"More than one hundred feet, easy."

Zavala almost bumped into one of four round pillars spaced alongside the boat. Another quartet of columns ran along the other side.

"Here's another spec for you to chew on," he said. "Eight pillars."

"Eight significant days in the Venus cycle," Austin replied. "Fits in."

They were at the boat's upsweeping sterncastle. Austin had expected the chamber to end in a blank wall. Instead there was another corbeled archway and beyond it a stairway leading upward. They climbed the stairs to a much smaller chamber whose floor was taken up largely by a rectangular sunken pit. In the pit was a sarcophagus whose lid was inscribed with repetitive carvings in the feathered serpent theme. They got into the pit and tried unsuccessfully to budge the lid with their knives.

"Maybe there's something on the ship we can use to pry it off," Austin suggested.

They descended to the large chamber. Zavala reached up to the boat rail and with a boost from Austin pulled himself over the side and into the boat. He held on to the gunwale and took a tentative step forward, testing his weight.

"The deck's holding, but I'll stay on the cross beam just in case." The wood creaked as he made his way across the deck. "Lots of amphorae. I Jeezus." A pause. Then an excited exclamation. "Kurt, you've got to see this!"

Zavala came back to the side of the boat and helped Austin climb in. Through the centuries the deck had settled, and now the planking slanted down to the middle where most of the amphorae were concentrated. Austin followed Zavala on a cross beam to the middle of the deck. Although the hull rocked slightly from their weight, it remained solidly ensconced in, its stone cradle.

Zavala bent over a big jar that had broken apart and came up with green fire sparkling in his hand. The elaborate necklace encrusted with emeralds and diamonds had come from a pile of gold and jewels lying in the artificial valley formed by the slanting planks. Austin took the necklace and decided he had never seen a piece of jewelry more beautiful. The intricate settings were painstakingly handcrafted. While Austin wondered, Zavala reached .into an intact jar and pulled out a handful of loose gems. Diamonds. Rubies. Emeralds. Zavala's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "This must be the greatest concentration of treasure in the history of the world!"

Austin was squatting by an amphora that had split open. "It makes the British crown jewels look like play beads, doesn't it?" Stones the size of marbles ran through his fingers. "The international lawyers are going to have a blast figuring out who owns this stuff."

Zavala glanced toward the burial chamber. "Maybe the last owner of record is in that stone coffin."

Austin picked up a couple of spearheads. "Let's see if it's anyone we know.",

They climbed out of the boat and went back to the burial chamber. The spearheads were strong, and the points fit under the lid. No combination of leverage, even in the hands of two well-muscled and resourceful men, proved equal to the skills of those who had designed and carved the stone coffin.

"Guess we'd better go back to grave robber's school," Austin said.

Zavala checked his pressure gauge. "No time like the present. We're going to have to switch to our spare tank if we stay much longer."

"We've seen all we need to see. Maybe the scientists can make sense of all this."

He started to lead the way back to the boat chamber when the unearthly quiet of the tomb was shattered by a thunderous explosion from above their heads. Austin had a fleeting vision of what it must be like under an erupting volcano. Synapses in their brains went crazy as ageold survival instincts clashed with conflicting commands.

Run. Hit the ground. Freeze.

They fought to keep their balance as the floor shook under their feet. The explosion forced air up into the enclosed chamber, creating a wind tunnel effect. The shock wave knocked Austin and Zavala back into the crypt. Arms flailing, they slammed against the sarcophagus in a wild clatter of tanks and air hoses, then slid into the space between the stone coffin and the wall that contained it. The fall cost them cuts and bruises but probably saved their lives. A piece of ceiling as big as a diesel engine block crashed down on the spot where they'd been standing. Sharpe-dged rocks flew through the air as if they had been shot from a strafing fighter plane. A choking cloud of dust billowed into the burial chamber and covered everything with a fine whitish coating. Then a pattering of loose stones and dirt rained down.

Austin spat out a mouthful of dust and asked Zavala if he was all right.

Zavala made his presence and condition known, first with a coughing fit, then a string of curses in Spanish.

"Yeah, I'm okay" he sputtered. "How about you?" .

"I think I'm in one piece. Wish I could stop the telephone ringing in my head."

More coughs. "What happened?"

"It sounded like a combination of Vesuvius and Krakatoa. My guess leans toward a few kilos of C4 plastique explosive." Austin grunted. "I like you a lot, Joe, but I don't think we're ready to be engaged. Can you move?"

There was more cursing as they untangled arms and legs and breathing hoses, until they were able to stand. Zavala reached for a halogen lamp which had fallen within arm's reach. He flashed it on Austin then back at his own face. Their masks were askew but the lenses were unbroken and had protected their eyes from the blinding dust.

"You look like a disreputable mime," Zavala said with a laugh.

"I hate mimes, even reputable ones. You're looking a little pale yourself. I've got another revelation. We're breathing without our regulators."

Zavala held the halfmask that contained the microphone and regulator to his face and clamped his teeth on the mouthpiece. "Still works," he said.

"Mine, too. Looks like we won't need them. I feel fresh air coming in."

"That means somebody blew the top off the pyramid. Time to get moving. Can you walk?"

Zavala nodded and crawled from the pit, then leaned in and helped Austin out. They were covered from head to toe with whitish brown dust that gave them a zombielike look. Austin flashed his light back into the pit and saw that the heavy stone lid had been cracked open by the concussion. Austin knew they should be moving, but his curiosity got the best of him. He aimed the light at the figure inside.

The face was covered by a jade mask with round eyes and an aquiline nose. The corpse was dressed in a shroud of dark material that could have been velvet. Strands of whitishred hair poked out from under an amorphously shaped hat made out of the same material. Austin moved the light down. The clawlike mummified hands clutched rolls of old parchment. Austin removed one of the rolls, examined it with wondering eyes, then tucked it back into the bony hands. He noticed a glint of yellow under the chin of the mask The shape was familiar, but it seemed out of context. Austin wanted to take a closer look, but there wasn't time. The sound of voices was coming from the boat chamber.

48 THE ALMOST IMPENETRABLE CLOUD in the boat chamber was dissipating rapidly, the motes swirling against the sunlight that streamed down from a huge opening that yawned where the ceiling had been. Great chunks of rock had flattened .the stern end of the dark red hull like a potato masher. Columns had been knocked over and lay in fragments. The chamber floor was littered with smaller pieces of rock and coated with limestone dust. Austin had no time to mourn. the boat's destruction. A rope ladder dropped down from the ragged hole. Two figures dressed in black were climbing down the ladder into the dusty haze.

The first one to set foot on the floor reached up and steadied the ladder. "Sorry about the mess, Don Halcon," came a voice that was flat, unemotional, and unapologetic.

"It couldn't be helped, Guzman," said the slenderbuilt dark-haired man, surveying the wreckage. "The important thing is that we reached our goal, not how we did it." He flicked on a powerful flashlight and pointed it at the ruined boat. "My God, what a fantastic sight!"

The intruders made their way through the rubble and climbed over the splintered stern timbers to the less damaged section of the boat. Moments later Halcon shouted with excitement. "Look at this, Guzman!" he said with hysterical joy. "There are enough jewels in my hand to outfit a whole new army."

Austin stood at the entryway to the boat chamber with Zavala and considered their situation. They were unarmed except for their sheath knives. Halcon and his henchman would have sidearms at the very least. If he and Zavala made a break for the ladder or the water entrance at the far end of the chamber, they'd be picked off like ducks in a shooting gallery.

He whispered his concerns to Zavala. "Maybe we can bluff our way through."

Joe had come to the same conclusion as his partner. "What have we got to lose?"

Just our lives and those of many, others, Austin thought. "We've got to work our way back to where we came in. Get rid of our main air tanks. Keep the emergency tank and regulator with you." He tapped the pouch around his neck. "I've got a surprise that might distract them, but the timing has to be just right. It won't take long for them to find us. If we surprise them they may start shooting."

"Okay, let them know we're here. I'll take my cue from you," Zavala said.

Austin clapped his colleague on the shoulder, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the boat chamber.

"Hello, gentlemen," he said in a loud and clear voice.

The white-haired man with the scar quickly slipped a pistol from its belt holster and cocked it in Austin's direction.

"We're unarmed. There are just two of us," Austin said quickly, staring at the muzzle. He had gambled that the man was too much of a professional to let off a panic shot.

"Come forward where I can see you." Austin followed the order, he and Zavala closing the distance by several paces. The white-haired man climbed out of the boat wreckage, cautiously approached, and relieved them of their sheath knives. The livid scar on his face became more pronounced when he grinned.

"We really have to stop meeting like this," he said, tossing the knives out of range.

"Introduce me to your friends, Guzman." Halcon stepped from the wrecked boat, a gun in his hand.

"Please excuse my rudeness, Don Halcon. Allow me to introduce Mr. Austin and his NUMA associate Mr. Zavala, whom I met in Arizona. Zavala is the gentleman who was photographed by our surveillance camera."

"Of course, now I recognize him."

"You'll have to send me a copy of the picture, Halcon," Zavala said.

Halcon chuckled. "I'd be surprised if you resourceful gentlemen didn't know my name. Guzman told me about you. In fact I ordered him to kill you. You've been lucky; he rarely fails to carry out a task. Before he now redeems himself, I must admit you have me baffled at how you got into the temple."

"We were swallowed by the jaws of Kukulcan," Austin said.

Halcon studied Austin like an entomologist examining an insect in a killing jar. "You're either telling the truth or simply trying to be ironic," Halcon said. "Either way it doesn't matter. You won't be leaving through the jaws anytime soon."

"I'll tell you how we got in if you answer the questions of a couple of condemned men. I'm just curious if our theory is correct."

Halcon must have known Austin was stalling for time. Austin looked at it from a different perspective, the opportunity to set up an escape. He had no intention of dying in this tomb.

A bargainer to the last," Halcon said, evidently intrigued with the game. "Go ahead."

"First of all, how did you find the temple?"

"The same way we knew about your Andrea Doria expedition. Mr. Donatelli's man, the Sicilian."

Antonio?"

"His name is not important. When you told Mr. Donatelli you were headed for Central America we ordered our spies to follow you to Guatemala. That ridiculous little yellow plane was easy to keep track of."

So much for the Beaver's unobtrusiveness, Austin thought.

"I've generously allowed you a bonus question," Halcon went on. "I'm still interested in your theory."

"How's this for starters?" Austin said. "The Phoenicians traded with the Americas for thousands of years. When the Romans besieged Carthage, a Phoenician fleet moved its treasure to the other side of the ocean. Centuries pass, Columbus arrives in the New World and hears tales of a fabulous treasure. He finds the talking stone, concludes it will point the way, and sets off on a last voyage to bring home the bacon. He misinterprets the information on the stone but comes pretty close."

"Almost as close as you have, Mr. Austin. Now will you reveal how you got in?"

"We came down that stairway" Austin said, glancing toward the burial chamber.

Halcon smiled and turned to his companion. "Guzman"

"I'm not done," Austin interrupted. "Columbus has ties to a mysterious organization called the Brotherhood, so it is quite likely they knew of the treasure."

"More than likely" Halcon stayed his henchman's hand. "I'm truly impressed, Mr. Austin. The Brotherhood has been one of the best-kept secrets in the world. Not even when we sank one of the world's most famous ocean liners did anyone suspect our existence."

"You're telling me that the Brotherhood sank the Andrea Doria?" Austin said.

"Guzman, really. While my father and the others were dealing with the armored truck guards in the hold, Guzman was taking care of matters on the ship's bridge."

"It was an accident," Austin countered.

"So they say. It wasn't as hard as you might think. We knew the boats would pass close to each other that night. Guzman was prepared to kill everyone on the Stockholm's bridge and ram the Swedish vessel into the other ship. As it was, he only took advantage of the mistakes made by others."

"If what you say is true, and the Brotherhood knew the talking stone pointed the way to treasure, why did they send it to the bottom of the sea?"

"Unfortunately the stone's value didn't become known until fairly recently. My father ordered the stone sunk. He was carrying out the original mandate of the Brotherhood, to destroy anything that discredited the discoveries of Columbus."

Zavala chuckled and said something in Spanish.

"You're quite right, Mr. Zavala, my father did, as you put it, screw up. But he couldn't have known that I would change the mandate of Los Hermanos."

"When did it change from sinking ships to starting revolutions?" Austin said

A cloud crossed Halcon's pale thin face, then he laughed and clapped his hands. Bravo, Mr. Austin. You have bought yourself more time on your death sentence. Tell me what NUMA knows of my plan."

"I will, after you fill in a few more holes."

"Your tongue would loosen if I started shooting holes in your colleague's arms and legs," Halcon said with a smile.

"You could do that, but let me offer another proposal. Tell me what your plan is, and I'll reveal a secret known to no other man on the planet but me. I give you my word."

And I accept it." Austin had judged Halcon correctly as a megalomaniac who would want others to know of his mad schemes. "I can sum up my plan in one word. Angelica. The new country that will be carved out of the Southwest states and southern California. Those of Hispanic descent will take back what was stolen from them by force."

Joe chortled. "Good luck, pal. I know of a certain superpower that might object."

"Please give me credit. I'm well aware of the armed might of the U.S. and have no intention of going up directly against it."

"Then all those arms you're buying are for sport shooting?"

"Oh, no, they will be used for military reasons. You're of Spanish ancestry, Mr. Zavala, so you know what I learned in the bullring. With a few flutters and flourishes of a cape and deft footwork you can vanquish a much larger and more powerful foe."

"The U.S. isn't exactly a fighting bull," Austin said.

"The same principle applies. I have prepared the groundwork well. I have moved millions of illegal immigrants into the old Spanish territories now occupied illegally by the United States, until they are on the verge of outnumbering the non?Hispanics. I have used my fortunes to acquire key businesses such as gas, oil, and mining. With my profits I have sponsored candidates pliant to my will for public office and bought and bribed others. Now I can put my plan into action. As soon as I leave here I will give the word. The army I have been training will move on the border towns. Others will conduct raids in the interior. There will be a backlash against Hispanics, much like that against the Japanese Americans in World War II. Although this time we will give them the means to resist against their Anglo tormentors, and a reason: to redeem the national pride that America has so often demeaned."

"You're talking bloodshed and chaos."

"My goals exactly! What can the U.S. do, free Albuquerque and Phoenix by nuking them? Conduct street-to-street fighting in the boulevards of San Diego? They will know a political settlement follows every armed conflict, and I will provide the way out. The governors I have elected will sue for peace and suggest that the U.S. turn to one of its citizens of Spanish heritage to act as mediator. I will negotiate de facto secession from the Union."

"There's no guarantee your scheme will succeed, in which case hundreds of thousands of people would have been killed for nothing."

"They will have served their purpose as a means to an end."

"Many of those people will be Latinos," Zavala said.

"What of it?" Halcon snarled. "My conquistador ancestors used warring Indian factions as their allies to defeat the Aztec empire, then made them slaves. I will offer those who survive the opportunity to relive the greatness of the past as I restore the glories of two great civilizations, the Indian and the Spanish."

"Glories like the ball court and the Inquisition?" Austin said.

And more you haven't even dreamed of, Mr. Austin. Much more." His tone was ominous. "I tire of this game," he said impatiently. "What of this great secret? I wouldn't blame you for lying to me, but it won't save you."

"I'm not lying. It's in the other chamber."

Halcon exchanged glances with Guzman. "No tricks. Guzman has a hair trigger. Lead the way."

Austin went up the stairs first, with Zavala following, then Guzman and Halcon, until they came to the edge of the burial pit.

"You came in this way?" Halcon said, looking in vain for an entryway

"I was lying about that, but not this."

The figure in the sarcophagus had engaged Halcon's attention.

"Who is it?" Halcon said.

"If I may?"

Guzman's cold eyes followed every move as Austin reached into the stone coffin and removed the shiny object from the bony hands of the mummy. He handed it to Halcon, who examined it, frowning with puzzlement.

"I don't understand," he said with suspicion.

"Consider this," Austin said. "You're the Maya, sitting on a pile of treasure for hundreds of years waiting for the men who brought it to you to return and reclaim it. One day a white man from the east shows up on your doorstep and says he wants his gold. He dies before you can accommodate him. You wonder if he embodies the Venus god, the feathered serpent Kukulcan, but you're not sure. So you hedge your bets, bury him with his treasure, and draw a map in stone in a way that only the Venus god will be able to understand. Those rolls of parchment he's holding are drawings of the inscription on the stone. But if that isn't enough to convince you, then tell me what a Christian cross is doing in a Mayan temple.".

"It can't be!" Halcon said with disbelief.

"Don Halcon, meet the Admiral of the Ocean Sea, Christopher Columbus."

Halcon stared at the mummy a moment, then laughed without mirth and tossed the cross back into the sarcophagus. "Keep it, you poor fool."

While all eyes were on the coffin Austin squeezed the pouch around his neck. Seconds later came a distant boom, then several others.

"What's that?" Halcon said, looking about him.

Guzman moved to the stairway and listened. "It sounds like thunder."

While the henchman's attention was diverted, Austin reached down to the floor and in a single quick motion picked up one of the sharp spear points he and Zavala had unsuccessfully used to pry the lid off the coffin. He wrapped his brawny arm around Halcon's slender neck and jabbed the sharp spike deep into the skin.

Guzman's gun swung around.

"Back off or this goes into his jugular!" Austin warned. He pushed the spear in further. Blood trickled down Halcon's neck.

Barely able to speak with his throat crushed, Halcon hissed, "Do as he says."

"Put that gun back in your holster," Austin commanded. He knew Guzman would never give up his gun entirely, that he'd try for a head shot or plug Zavala first.

Guzman smiled, a hint of admiration in the curve of his thin lips, and slid the gun back into its case. Then Austin ordered Halcon to drop his weapon.

With Zavala staying close, Austin backed out of the chamber and dragged his human shield down the stairs into the main chamber. Guzman followed at a deliberate pace as they stepped over and around the rubble and stopped under the light streaming in from the ceiling hole.

Halcon had recovered from his surprise. "Looks like a Mexican standoff," he said, his voice choked but defiant.

A brief shower of water splashed down on them from above. Everyone looked up except Austin.

"That's not rain, in case you're wondering. Those booms you heard a few minutes ago were explosives. I used a remote detonator to blow up the dam that blocks water into the lake. Millions of gallons are pouring in."

"I don't believe you," Halcon snarled.

"Perhaps you should, Don Halcon," said Guzman. "It seems Mr. Austin was not lying about the detonator."

"You could never have foreseen events," Halcon said.

"That's right. My original plan was to blow the dam after we left to make it tougher for you to find the temple. This way at least we'll all die together."

They were suddenly drenched by another deluge from above, only stronger this time.

"My guess is that's only the first ripple from the explosion. The reservoir would have burst by now. More will follow. It won't take much to breach that hole you blew in the temple. I have no idea how long before this chamber fills, but I wouldn't stay around too long if I were you."

Guzman looked toward the ladder and seemed to lose some of his steely composure. "We must leave."

"Not without that treasure."

"Doesn't make any difference to me," Austin said. "Like. you said, we're dead men."

Water poured down again, but instead of a brief burst, it continued to flow in a torrent.

"Don Halcon . . ." There was alarm in Guzman's voice.

"He's bluffing, you fool," Halcon replied with disgust.

"The treasure is of use to no one if he's right," Guzman said.

Halcon's eyes filled with hate. "You've always been nothing but a homicidal cretin from the day my father hired you," he said with contempt. "You can't see the glory!"

A hard smile crossed Guzman's lips.

Water was pouring in like a river now, directly on top of them so that it was hard to see each other, sloshing onto their feet, yet nobody moved.

"Quite a dilemma, isn't it, Guzman," Austin taunted, raising his voice to be heard. "Loyalty to your crazed boss and the Brotherhood, or death by drowning. I sincerely hope you resolve your family spat, but you'll have to settle it without me. That's the cue, Joe!"

Zavala ran toward the well at the far end of the chamber and dove in. Austin dropped the spear point, grabbed Halcon's butt, and with a powerful bum's rush threw him at Guzman, who'd been momentarily distracted by Zavala's sprint. They went down in a tangle, but even as he fell Guzman was pulling out the pistol. Austin dashed for the well. Guzman was up and got off a shot, but Austin was a poor target in the dim light, and the bullet missed. Austin dove into the well.

Guzman cursed and went after Austin. Buffeted by the flood swirling around his ankles and knees, he had taken only a few steps when he realized it would be suicide to stay in the chamber. This conclusion was reinforced when he turned and saw that Halcon had deserted him and was heading for the ladder. Halcon's dreams of glory had finally given way to his instincts for self-preservation. He slogged his way against the rising tide until he was under the ceiling hole where the water roared down in a miniature Niagara. Blinded by the force of the cascade, he groped for the ladder, but his hand slipped. He clenched his teeth with determination and tried again. This time he got a grip on a rung.

As he began to climb a hand grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him down. Guzman wrapped his arms around Halcon's knees and used the full weight of his body to pull him back into the chamber. Halcon held on with one hand and with the other pulled his pistol, which he had retrieved, from its holster and swung it with all the strength he could muster in his awkward position. The gun barrel struck flesh and bone, but Guzman desperately held on. Halcon raised the pistol again and brought it down twice more on Guzman's head with the desired effect.

Guzman's grip loosened. He lost his footing and was swept back into the chamber where his body came to rest against a pile of boat wreckage. Even then he wasn't through. He was on his knees, struggling to get to his feet, when a ship's beam as long as a man slammed into his face. Borne by the current, the timber had the effect of a battering ram. A fiery pain screamed in his brain. Dazed and blinded in one eye, arms flailing uselessly, he gasped for air, only to suck in lungfuls of foul water. His frantic movements eventually slowed and became more feeble, and the current drove him deep into the dark chamber.

Halcon was having his own problems. He had climbed only a few yards up the ladder when a wave surged over the lip of the gap in the ceiling and pummeled him like a giant wet fist until he was no longer able to hold on. More water poured in and knocked him off the ladder. Recognizing that escape by this route was impossible, he fought his way to the stairs leading to the burial chamber. With the water lapping at his heels, he crawled on hands and knees up the stairway

Zavala had been treading water when Austin dove into the pool. As Guzman's bullet whistled overhead, they surface dove and swam down into the shaft, buddy-breathing off one tank. Minutes later they emerged from the jaws of Kukulcan. They checked their compass and swam for open water, using every muscle in their legs to get beyond the current produced by the flooding temple. They surfaced near the cove that hid the plane. Within minutes they had cleared the branches away and started the engine and were skimming across the water for a takeoff. As soon as the plane gained altitude, Zavala banked it around the lake in a big circle.

The island that had built up around the temple was gone. In its place was a black hole. Lake water swirled down the hole like a bathtub drain and tugged at the mooring line of a seaplane that must have been Halcon's.

They had seen enough. They swooped in low over the lake for one last look at the vortex. Zavala couldn't resist temptation. He leaned out the window and shouted, "Goodbye, Columbus."

Then they headed back to the Nereus.

49 THE STUBBY-MASTED SAILB0AT WITH the single oversized gaff-rigged sail cruised over the deep blue waters of Chesapeake Bay, pushed along from directly behind by a steady fifteen-knot breeze from the southwest. Austin lounged in the large open cockpit with one arm on the raised rail, the other on an oversized tiller. His eyes scanned the boat traffic, looking for prey.

His hunt was interrupted, not unpleasantly, by Nina, who emerged from the cuddy with two clinking glasses in her hands. "Purser's rum and juice," she said.

She was dressed in a NUMA Tshirt and highcut white shorts that emphasized her long legs and buttery complexion. Austin was not oblivious to her charms, but he was intent on his task. He murmured his thanks and kept his eyes glued on the sea.

"Aha, my pretty," he said like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz. He picked up a pair of binoculars and focused on a graceful sloop with a white fiberglass hull, about twenty-five feet long. Like Austin, it was loafing along, main-sail and jib set wingtowing with the wind behind.

Austin sipped his drink, set it in a glass holder, then moved the tiller so that the catboat came up parallel to the sloop. He waved at the two young men in the other boat's cockpit, jerked his thumb like a hitchhiker, then veered off into a broad reach with the wind on his side.

The sloop's crew took up the goodnatured challenge for a race.

Austin pointed the bow closer to the wind, and the sloop followed suit. They were parallel now, maybe separated by a hundred feet, maneuvering for a start.

Austin tightened sail, putting the rail into the water.

The men in the sloop did the same with their main and jib, and soon the two boats were cutting frothy wakes across the bay. The sloop was sleek and fast, and the crew were good sailors, but before long Austin began to pass the other boat. He lay back against the rail, the picture of relaxation, sipping his juice until he left the sloop far behind.

"What did you just do?" Nina said with a smile.

"I taught a couple more sailors that just because this thing looks like a bathtub doesn't mean it sails like one."

"I think it's a great boat. Big deck. It's amazing the space you have below for a boat only eighteen feet long."

"I've overnighted quite often, and as you can see by the cooking and sleeping facilities, I like comfort and room to stretch. The catboat was originally built as a workboat. One person can handle the single sail, and it's big enough to catch a light wind at the end of the day. She's weatherly, too, in conditions that would sink another boat. Best of all, she's fast and doesn't look it. So I can sneak up on unsuspecting chaps like that sloop crew, and show them my dust. Here we are."

They had sailed off the point of a small island. Austin threw out the anchor and they dug into the picnic basket, enjoying lunch while the boat rocked slightly in the gentle swell. After lunch Nina sat close to Austin and leaned against his shoulder.

"Thank you for inviting me for a sail."

"I thought we both could use a pleasant diversion after the last few weeks."

She stared thoughtfully into the distance. "I can't stop thinking about those terrible men, though. What a way to meet the end."

"Don't feel sorry for them. Guzman had murdered hundreds of people in his lifetime, not to mention sinking the Andrea Doria. In a way, drowning was a fitting death for him. If Halcon's scheme had succeeded, thousands more might have died. Guzman was lucky Halcon would have had time to contemplate the error of his ways. The air in the burial chamber kept the water out for a while, but it was only a matter of hours before it gave out. Best of all, the Brotherhood died with him. I only wish he'd lived long enough to see what happened to his precious treasure."

"My hat is off to Admiral Sandecker," Nina said, eager to change the subject. "Suggesting that the treasure be put into an international fund to help rid the world of poverty and disease was an act of genius."

"The alternative would have been years of legal wrangling with no winners. Who were the owners? The descendants of the Phoenicians? The Romans? The Mexicans? The Guatemalans?"

"Or Christopher Columbus." Nina shook her head. "Ironic, isn't it? Like Halcon, his obsession with gold killed him."

"He wasn't in very good health even before he set sail, according to the autopsy. He might have died soon even if he never took his fifth voyage. At least this way he's become more famous than ever, whether he deserved it or not. Besides, I owe Chris one. If not for his obsessions we might not have met."

Taking Austin's hand in hers, Nina said, "If he only knew what would come from that voyage. Retrieving his body and the treasure will be the greatest archaeological project in history, with nations and governments all over the world cooperating. I can't wait to start work. He's done more in death to bring people together than he ever did in life. Too bad his legacy as the discoverer of America will be flawed."

"It doesn't seem to matter. I've seen the plans for the lavish tomb they want to build him in Madrid. They're bidding for his body in Washington and San Salvador, too."

"No one's suggested putting up a monument for those nameless Phoenicians and Africans who were the first to set foot in the New World," Nina said.

"Maybe they weren't the first."

She arched an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon. Do you have evidence to support that possibility Professor Austin?"

"Maybe. I took another look at the boat carvings. Do you remember the picture of the man hanging from a diamond-shaped object?"

"Yes. I thought it might be a god of some kind."

"I came at it from a different way. I wondered how the Maya managed to get a bird'seye view when they were laying out the pointers to the jaws of Kukulcan. I think they used huge kites."

"Flying Maya! That's a novel theory. Where would they have learned to do that?"

They were interrupted by the buzzing of Austin's cell phone. He dug it out of his waterproof pack and put it to his ear. His frown changed to a smile when he heard the voice on the line. He talked for a few minutes before hanging up.

"That was Angelo Donatelli calling from the hospital," he said. "He'll be out in a few days."

"It's a miracle he wasn't killed."

"More than a miracle. His cousin Antonio threw Halcon's aim off when he went for him."

"I'm glad. Mr. Donatelli sounds like a nice man from what you've told me."

"You'll get a chance to see for yourself. He's throwing a big family clambake at his Nantucket house. You're invited. Paul and Gamay will be there too."

"I'd love to come along."

"Good then, it's a date. Now would you like to hear the rest of my kite theory?"

Nina nodded.

"I think the Maya learned from the best kite fliers in the world. The Japanese."

She laughed. "I don't think I'll go there."

"Where would you like to go, then?"

Nina picked up the cell phone. "Someplace where you won't need this." She dropped the phone over the aide.

Then, removing her sunglasses, she smiled and her lush lips parted invitingly. Austin accepted the invitation, which was as warm and sweet as promised.

"How would you like to go below and, what did you call it? Stretch?" Nina whispered.

Without a word, Austin took her hand, led her to the spacious cabin, and shut the louvered doors on the world.. At least for a little while.