The Mayan Resurrection

12

8:37 p.m.

The delivery truck stops at the gated entrance of the Mabus Estate.

Mitchell Kurtz lowers his driver’s side window to speak with the security guard. ‘Hey, pal. Got a delivery for your boss. Three surf-and-turf specials, and a bottle of wine. Should I leave it with you or take it up to the house?’

The armed guard steps out of his booth. ‘Where’s Murphy?’

‘Out sick. Probably at the track.’

‘Put the food on Mabus’s tab and leave everything with me. I’ll take it up in the cart.’

‘Sure thing.’ Kurtz hands the guard a thermal delivery pouch. ‘Do me a favor and take the food tray inside, the pouch has to stay with me.’

The guard reaches inside the insulated pouch and grabs the metal tray – and is jolted into unconsciousness behind ten thousand volts of electricity.

Kurtz opens his door. He steps over the body and pulls off his jacket, exposing a brown-and-gray uniform identical to the guard’s. Hoisting the unconscious man over his shoulder, he carries him inside the guardhouse, then unceremoniously drops him to the floor.

Looking into the videocam, he dials into the main house.

Peter Mabus’s voice bellows over the intercom, Kurtz’s screen remaining scrambled for privacy. ‘What is it?’

‘You have a food delivery, sir. I’m bringing it up in the cart.’

‘About time, we called forty minutes ago.’

The line goes dead.

Kurtz tucks the metal food tray into its thermal pouch and resets the stunner, then taps at the tiny communication device hidden inside his left ear and speaks into his wristwatch. ‘I’m good. You in position?’

One hundred yards behind the beach house, Ryan Beck emerges from the dark Atlantic, dressed from head to toe in a black wet suit. Using his night-vision glasses, he verifies the beach is deserted, then makes his way past the sandy dunes and wild grass to the private boardwalk.

‘Stand by.’

Beck switches to a thermal scanner, focusing the invisible beam on the back of the Mabus mansion. ‘I’m detecting three people. Kid’s upstairs in a third-floor bedroom. Servant’s waiting for you at the door. Our target’s drinking out back on the screened-in porch.’

‘Roger that, I’m on my way.’ Kurtz starts the golf cart and drives it up a narrow walkway that leads to the front entrance of the mansion.

Belle Glade, Florida 8:45 p.m.

‘Been taking care of ya’ll for seven long years, your mama longer than that!’ Quenton Morehead stumbles into his granddaughter’s bedroom, the alcohol flowing through his bloodstream like poison. ‘Two of ya’ll took and took… drained me like a ’ho.’

Lilith Eve Robinson’s heart flutters like the wings of a dove.

‘Ya’ll owe me, you know that don’t cha? Seven years’ worth, uh-huh.’

Her adrenaline pumping, Lilith’s mind searches desperately for the white light as Quenton stumbles out of his trousers, falling sideways onto her sofa bed.

‘Okay, okay, don’t start yer slobberin’. Ya’ll been comin’ along nicely lately. Tonight it’s time to let you feel heaven for yourself.’

Lilith squeezes her eyes shut, her consciousness taking refuge inside the nexus.

Jacob?

I’m here, Lilith. But I can’t stay. My mother’s calling, I have to go.

Please don’t go yet, he’s doing it again! Her energy reaches out for him, entwining his mind like a vine.

Hey, let go, you’re… you’re too strong for me. Let me go Stay with me-please! I really need you tonight!

I’ll come back as soon as I can, I promise.

Jacob, he’s hurting me.

He’s always hurting you. Stop being a victim, Lilith. Call the cops. Run away. Do something!

It’s not that easy for me. I have no place else to go.

My mother’s coming, Lilith You don’t love me anymore, do you?

I do love you, I just can’t do this right now. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Jacob-wait! Don’t go, please!

Lilith, do you trust me?

Yes.

Then here’s what I want you to do. Tell him that if he puts that thing near you again, you’ll tell everyone in his church.

He’s threatened to kill me if I ever told.

Then kill him. Wait until he passes out, then get a real sharp knife and cut his throat.

I… I can’t do that.

Then I can’t help you. I’m sorry, I have to go.

Jake, wait Jacob’s mind pushes free and slips out of the netherworld, his vacancy tossing Lilith’s own consciousness back into reality.

The girl opens her eyes in time to witness Quenton step out of his boxer shorts, exposing himself to her. ‘Now don’t ya’ll worry. See this? It’s slidey cream. Slidey cream makes every-thin’ feel real good inside.’

Jacob help me…

‘Jacob!’

Longboat Key, Florida

‘Jacob!’

Jake opens his eyes. He is on the beach, his mother calling for him.

The white-haired boy hustles up to the house.

‘Jake, I want you to meet someone,’ Dominique says. ‘This is Craig Basedorfer. Mr. Basedorfer will be overseeing internal security while Salt and Pepper are away.’

Jacob nods at the older gentleman, who looks more like a librarian than a security expert.

Solomon Adashek nods at the boy, his thin lips pursing in a forced smile. ‘A pleasure to finally meet you, young man. Mr. Kurtz and Mr. Beck have told me so much about you.’

‘Like what?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘What have they told you?’

‘Well, for one thing, that you’re quite the athlete. Mrs. Gabriel, perhaps you can call your other son in, there are a few new procedures I need to go over with all of you before you go to bed.’

‘Manny’s probably in the SOSUS lab.’

‘No,’ Jacob says. ‘I saw him playing basketball.’

‘Okay, I’ll be right back.’ Dominique heads outside, leaving her son alone with the government-trained killer.

‘Jacob, I have something for you, a little gift from the CIA.’ Solomon Adashek removes the small cigar-sized canister from his jacket pocket, popping open the seal on the pressurized lid as he aims it at the boy.

‘What… iz… zit.’ Jake hears his words echoing hauntingly in his brain as the room spins, and he falls into the psychopath’s reptilian-cold embrace.

Mabus Estate 8:47 p.m.

Mike Renyze, Peter Mabus’s 260-pound ‘personal assistant’ greets Mitchell Kurtz at the front door. ‘Who da fuck’re you? Where’s Maurice?’

‘Maurice got sick on some bad X. I’m covering his shift.’ Kurtz hands the larger man the thermal pouch.’

From his thermal scanner, Beck watches with amusement as a white-hot spark ignites at the front door, and the hulking form collapses. He taps his communicator. ‘That’s twice you’ve used the same gimmick. What do you have in mind for our man?’

‘He gets tonight’s special.’ Kurtz drags the unconscious assistant into the bushes, then enters the mansion. He follows the polished marble floor to the back of the house and out through the kitchen to the back porch. ‘Mr. Mabus?’

Peter Mabus looks up from his lounge chair. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Maurice’s cousin, Phillip. The chef at Le Vielle Maison sent something special for you tonight to go along with your entrees. Your bodyguard said he’ll take it if you can’t finish it.’

Mabus approaches, intrigued. ‘So? What is it?’

Kurtz reaches into his thermal pouch and removes a fifteen-pound lobster, holding the animal by its tail. ‘Is this a beauty or what?’

Mabus’s mouth waters. ‘I like it, give it to me.’

Kurtz squeezes a trigger hidden in the lobster’s belly.

Two darts shoot out from the claw openings, puncturing Mabus’s chest.

The billionaire’s eyes roll up as he collapses to the wood deck.

Kurtz shoves the lobster-gun back inside the pouch, then bends over Mabus. Checks his pulse. ‘Pep, he’s out.’

‘Better move fast, the kid’s left his room.’

Kurtz removes the two darts and tosses them in the pouch. Removes the hypodermic needle from his belt.

‘He’s coming down the steps.’

Kurtz removes Mabus’s sandal, then injects the clear elixir between the big man’s toes.

‘First floor, heading for the kitchen.’

Kurtz replaces the sandal. Gathers his thermal pouch.

‘Five seconds… move!’

Kurtz hurries out the back porch, hustling silently down the walkway to the beach.

Twelve-year-old Lucien Mabus stubs his cigarette out in an ashtray, then heads outside. ‘Hope dinner’s ready, I’m starving. Dad? Oh, shit-’

The boy bends over his prone father. Presses his ear to his chest. ‘Rempe, get in here, Dad’s having a heart attack! Walker? Maurice?’

Peter Mabus’s pulse ceases long before the ambulance arrives.

From the sundeck of their rented yacht a half mile offshore, Beck and Kurtz feast on lobster and fillet tips, the light show provided courtesy of the Hampton Police Department.

Gabriel Compound 9:02 p.m.

Jacob’s head throbs in pain. His arms are pinned behind his back, his wrists and ankles in handcuffs.

He forces his eyes open, bile rising in his throat as he takes in the scene.

His mother is seated across the room, bound by duct tape to a wicker chair. Her hair is tousled, her eyes wild above the gag as the slight, middle-aged predator methodically finishes taping her ankles before turning his attention to Jacob’s twin brother.

Manny is bent chest down over the kitchen table, his arms splayed and bound over the granite top, his lower body dangling free.

Solomon Adashek pulls up a kitchen chair and sits beside the boy. Liver-spotted hands gently probe the unconscious youth’s hairless muscular legs, savoring the moment before pulling down the boy’s boxer shorts, exposing his bare bottom.

Jacob and Dominique grunt and groan as if jolted by electricity, thrashing within their bonds.

Solomon looks up, his eyes cold and twinkling, his thin mouth grinning like a snake.

Jacob’s heart beats like a timpani drum, his adrenal glands pumping like a river – as the room seems to brighten, and time suddenly slows to a crawl.

Through waves of invisible energy, he forces himself off the ground, balancing within his shackles. He struggles with all his might against the steel handcuffs.

No use… I can’t break free!

Eyeing his mother, he bunny-hops toward her as Solomon Adashek’s head slowly turns toward him, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

Jacob jumps off the ground and double-kicks the man as hard as he can in the chest, sending him headfirst over the kitchen table.

Lactic acid washes over the boy’s muscles as he bends to his mother, the fingers of his shackled hands tearing at her bonds, ripping apart the duct tape.

Freed, Dominique springs out of her chair, pulling the tape from her mouth. She rushes toward the mantel and grabs the Katana, the larger of the two Japanese swords on display.

Jacob collapses to the floor, his exhausted muscles quivering, his body bathed in sweat.

Solomon Adashek shakes the cobwebs from his brain. He rolls over on the kitchen floor – gazing up at Dominique Gabriel, who stands over him, her eyes breathing fire.

Raising the Katana high above her head, she rasps out a command, ‘Jacob, look away. Mommy doesn’t want you to see this.’

Jacob stares, his azure-blue eyes widening in glee as his mother’s Katana loops downward in one magnificent slash, separating Solomon Adashek’s head from his body.