Xibalba

CHAPTER 12

Maddock leaned forward over the steering wheel, as if by getting closer to the windshield, he might have a better chance of seeing through the deluge. It was a futile effort. The tropical rainstorm, which had come seemingly out of nowhere, was dumping water by the bucketful. He could see the windshield wipers — twin black lines waving back and forth furiously in a losing battle with the rain — but everything else was a green-gray blur. He let his foot off the gas pedal, moved it to the brake pedal, and brought the rented SUV to a complete stop.

“Have you considered pulling off the road?” Angel asked from the passenger seat.

He shook his head. “Too much chance of getting stuck.”

“Or swept away in a mudslide,” Bones put in from the back seat. “God, this place is a hole. I can’t believe we traded Cancún for this.”

Maddock glanced in the rear-view mirror, curious to see what Bell’s reaction would be. They were only in Honduras because the archaeologist had insisted that the ancient Maya city of Oxwitic — better known by the Spanish name, Copán — was the most likely location for “the tail of the serpent,” the beginning of the road that would lead them to the City of Shadow.

Maddock wasn’t so sure. While it was true that Copán had been one of the most important cities in the southern portion of the Classic Maya cultural area, Copán wasn’t exactly a “lost” city. The site, located in western Honduras, near the border with Guatemala, had been thoroughly explored and cataloged by archaeologists, and it seemed very unlikely that they would simply happen upon something new. Additionally, it was well over four hundred miles away from the cenote where they had found the guidestone. While that wasn’t a lot in modern terms, it would have been a significant distance to the ancients.

But it was Bell’s show, and they couldn’t rule it out without first paying a visit.

“I thought you SEALs liked getting wet,” Miranda said.

“That’s a common misunderstanding,” Bones said matter-of-factly. “It’s not that we like getting wet. We just like it wet. I mean, except for Maddock. He—”

“Aren’t you worried about another car plowing into us?” Angel interrupted.

“Not much chance of that. In rain like this, everybody stops.” Maddock hoped that was true. They hadn’t seen much traffic on the road to begin with. Honduras was one of the poorest countries in Latin America, and a recent coup d’etat had only made things worse. The road was in terrible shape, the pavement crumbling and riddled with pot holes that resembled mini-cenotes. Only a madman would risk driving the roads under such conditions.

Then again, it was Latin America, where insanity was a prerequisite for getting hired as a bus driver.

“It will probably slack off in a few minutes,” he said, hopefully.

A buzzing sound signaled an incoming text message, which was a bit of a surprise since mobile coverage had been spotty at best since leaving the major city of San Pedro Sula more than three hours earlier. He took out his phone, but before he could check the message, Angel reached over and plucked it from his grasp.

“Hey!”

“No texting while driving,” she said, with a good-natured grin.

“I wouldn’t exactly call this driving,” he replied, but she ignored him and checked the message.

“It's from Jimmy. He's says the Model 686 was purchased in Manassas, Virginia by a Samuel Jones.”

Jimmy Letson was a reporter with the Washington Post, and a master of ferreting out information, particularly electronic records that weren’t exactly freely available. Maddock had called him before leaving Chichén Itzá to have him explore some alternative theories about the location of the City of Shadow, but he had also asked his friend to run down the guns they had taken from the men who had tried to attack them at the cenote. It was a slim lead, but maybe it would help them identify the mastermind of the Serpent Brotherhood.

The Model 686, much to Bones’ chagrin, was now buried at a randomly chosen spot in the Yucatan rainforest, along with the other guns. Because they were flying commercial, transporting guns across international borders, especially with no documentation to prove their ownership, was out of the question.

“Sam Jones?” Maddock said, a little disappointed. It sounded like an alias, which meant the guns were probably another dead end. “Ask him if he knows anything else.”

Angel typed in the question, then read the reply which followed almost immediately. “He says, ‘If I knew more I would tell you more.’”

“Good old Jimmy,” Maddock said. “He’s such a people person.”

“It’s because he spends all his time with computers,” Bones said. “He lost all his people skills.”

“You’re one to talk about people skills,” Miranda said with a snort.

“Oh, I’ve got skills,” Bones averred. “Not people in general, though. Just with the babes.”

Angel turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me, but how many women have dumped you in the last few years?”

“No one dumps me,” Bones said, his tone solemn and inscrutable. “I just move on with my life while they’re catching up.”

“Ass,” Angel said.

“Seconded,” Miranda put in.

The rain seemed to be slacking off, so Maddock put the car in gear and started forward. “Start looking for the turn-off,” he said. “We should be close.”

A few minutes later, they reached the spot where the GPS unit said they should turn south to reach the ruins, but the way was blocked by a large black SUV with a bar of emergency flashers on its roof and the words “POLICIA NACIONAL” emblazoned on the fenders.

“Uh, oh,” Bones said. “Hope you brought extra cash for the bribes.”

As Maddock brought the rental to a stop, nose-to-nose with the police vehicle, two men got out. Both wore black fatigues, replete with tactical vests, and carried assault rifles. The men looked more like soldiers than police officers. One of them approached while the other remained at a distance, his weapon at the low ready.

Maddock rolled down the window and addressed the man in Spanish. “Is there a problem, officer? We wanted to visit the Copán Ruins.”

“The site is closed.”

Maddock translated for Angel’s benefit; everyone else in the group spoke Spanish, though Bones liked to say that he only knew enough to ask how to find beer, bathrooms, and brothels.

“Not according to TripAdvisor,” Bones remarked. “Wonder why they didn’t just put up a sign?”

“Do you know how long it will be closed?” Maddock asked. “We’ve come a long way just to see—”

“Indefinitely,” the policeman said.

“Is it the rain?” Angel asked.

Maddock knew it wasn’t but decided to ask anyway.

“Biological reasons,” the policeman said, this time with a note of finality. “You have to leave, now.”

Maddock offered a half-assed salute and put the car in gear, backing away.

“Biological my ass,” Bones muttered. “They’re hiding something. You think the Serpent Brotherhood figured out we were heading here?”

Maddock withheld comment until he had completed a three-point turn and was heading back down the rain-drenched highway. “I think we should find out.” He tilted the mirror so he could look Bones in the eye. “You up for a little sneak and peek?”

“You know it, brother.”

“Are you sure it’s worth the trouble?” Miranda asked. “Coming here was always a long shot anyway. And what if that policeman was telling the truth? What if there some kind of contagion in there?”

Maddock tapped the brakes, stopping once more in the middle of the road, and turned to Angel. “You guys head back to the last town we passed. Santa Rita, I think it was called. Hang out for a while. Get some lunch. I’ll try to call, but if we can’t get a signal, you’ll need to come back here to pick us up. Give us three hours.”

“Copán Ruinas is closer,” Bell pointed out, referring to the modern resort city on the edge of the archaeological site, just a couple miles further down the highway in the other direction.

Maddock shook his head. “That would mean driving past the watchdogs a couple more times, and I’d prefer not to remind them we were here.”

“And if you’re not here when we get back,” Angel said, “how long should we wait?”

“Don’t wait. Get away as fast as you can.” He saw the concern in her eyes and offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll be here.”

He got out and found Bones already waiting for him. “You know, Maddock, if there really is something biological going on out here and you get me infected… ” He shook his head. “All I can say is, I'd better get a hot nurse out of the deal.”

Maddock chuckled. “No promises.”

Once they were moving through the woods, Bones was strictly business. Neither man said a word; all communication between them was done with hand signals, though even those were mostly unnecessary.

The rain had turned the ground into soup, slowing them almost to a crawl, and the persistent drizzle sapped the heat from their bodies despite the tropical climate, but neither man complained. They had both been through a lot worse.

The ruins were only a couple hundred yards from the road, in a clearing on the valley floor where the ancient inhabitants of the region had first settled nearly three thousand years before. From the edge of the trees, Maddock could see several man-made structures. There were a few buildings, crumbling truncated pyramids, worn down by the passage of time, but nothing on the scale of what they had seen at Chichén Itzá. Copán’s claim to fame was not its architecture but its art, specifically hundreds of stelae — carved stone monuments sculpted with relief figures and glyphs that told the history of the Maya city. The stelae at Copán were considered to be the best examples of pre-Columbian high-relief sculpture and unique among the Maya, who were known primarily for bas relief carvings, like the blocks on the altar in the cenote back in the Yucatan.

If there was a clue to the location of the City of Shadow, it was probably carved into one of the stelae, but examining them would have to wait. It wasn’t just a matter of time, though that was certainly a factor. It would take days to properly examine all the stone markers. No, the problem was that somebody else had beaten them to it.

More than a dozen men in full military-style gear, armed with M16A2 rifles, were roaming the edge of the site. Maddock guessed they were policemen like the men blocking the road, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were acting in an official capacity. In Honduras, as in much of the developing world, police and military troops were often available for rent to the highest bidder.

The real work, however, was going on inside the secure perimeter. Men and women — at least twenty, but possibly twice that many — were spread out across the grounds, examining and photographing every stelae, brick structure and interesting looking rock on the valley floor. They might have been archaeologists, conducting a comprehensive survey after closing the site to the public. In fact, that explanation made the most sense, except for one thing.

Maddock leaned close to Bones. “Are you not seeing what I’m not seeing?”

“If you mean hot nurses… ”

“I mean HAZMAT suits. Whatever’s going on here, it’s not a disease outbreak or anything like that. Why circulate a bogus story about a biological hazard?”

“Think they’ll tell us if we ask nicely?”

Maddock knew the question was rhetorical, but shook his head anyway. “Let’s try to get closer.”

They moved out, skirting the clearing on the south side of the site, furthest from the access road and the bulk of the armed men. The hike from the road had left both men covered in mud, natural camouflage which, in tandem with the persistent drizzle, hid their approach from the none-too-vigilant lookouts. Maddock and Bones low-crawled out to one of pyramids, scaling it to get a better view of what was going on.

The people conducting the survey looked like they might be college students. There was an even mixture of male and female, all wearing upscale casual attire that looked like it might have come from Urban Outfitters or Eddie Bauer. The group was racially diverse as well, which suggested they were not locals, but none of them were speaking loud enough for Maddock to determine nationality.

Maddock took out his phone, intending to snap a few pictures of the workers on the off chance that Jimmy Letson might be able to work some magic with facial recognition software, but before he could clear enough grime from his fingers to operate the touch screen, Bones hissed softly, warning him to freeze.

A small group — three men and a woman — had just exited a nearby structure. Two of the men were wearing dark polo shirts emblazoned with some kind of official logo — park employees, Maddock guessed. The other man was a hulking figure with buzz-cut blond hair and a bearing that advertised ex-military. The woman had the olive complexion of a Latin American, but with red hair and freckles. There seemed little doubt that she was the one in charge.

“I’m sorry,” one of the park employees was saying in Spanish. “But there isn’t anything else.”

“Something you don’t tell the tourists about?

“You have seen everything. There may be other structures in the forest, but we have used ground-penetrating radar to map the entire site. There are no buried structures. No tunnels or secret passages.”

“What about stelae that have not been cataloged? Or artifacts that you’ve sold on the black market? Do you have photographs of them?”

The park employee appeared to take great offense at the accusation. “I would never get involved with criminals.”

The woman cast a dubious glance his way. “I’m not interested in your illicit activities. I just need to know if anything has been found here that relates to the City of Shadow.”

The man choked back laughter. “The City of Shadow? You might as well ask me about chupacabra or el Cadejo.”

The woman flicked her head in the direction of her large companion, and the latter struck like a bolt of lightning, burying his fist in the other man’s gut.

Even as the flippant park worker went to his knees, doubling over and gasping, the woman whipped a pistol out from under her coat and aimed it at the forehead of the second Honduran.

The man’s eyes went wide with terror. “You have to believe us. The City of Shadow is a myth. No one believes it. Just the campesinos, but they are superstitious fools.”

The woman thumbed back the hammer of her weapon. “I believe it,” she hissed. “Am I a fool?”

From his perch, some fifty feet away, Maddock detected the distinctive smell of urine in the damp air. One of the park employees had just wet himself. With painstaking slowness, Maddock raised his phone, pointed it at the woman, and took her picture.

“Please,” the man begged. “There is nothing here about the City of Shadow. If there was, I would tell you.”

“But you have heard of it. Tell me what you know.”

“Just the story. My grandmother told it. How the shadow of the death lords threatened to engulf the world, until the gods hid the city from mortal eyes.”

“And Copán? It is the beginning of the Serpent Road that leads to the city?”

The man blinked at her in confusion. “The City of Shadow isn’t a real place. That's all I know, I swear.”

The woman nodded and then slowly eased the hammer down. The man sagged in relief, but instead of lowering the weapon, the woman swiped it sideways, striking him in the temple.

“What now?” asked Buzz-Cut.

The woman stared out across the site for several seconds before answering. “This was a waste of time. There’s nothing here.” She holstered the pistol, trading it for a walkie-talkie which she held up to her mouth. “Wrap it up,” she said, switching to English. “We leave in ten minutes.”

As the two walked away, Bones sidled up to Maddock. “Thinks she’s a Serpent Sister?” he whispered.

“Don’t know,” Maddock admitted. “The Serpent Brothers seemed kind of low-rent compared to these guys. Whoever she is, she must have a lot of clout with the government to shut down the site at a moment’s notice.”

“Money talks. Especially foreign money. That big guy sounded American. Looks kind of like an ex-jarhead, too.”

Maddock nodded. “Probably a private security contractor. No telling who holds the purse strings, or why are they suddenly interested in the City of Shadow.”

“And right when we’re looking for it. Coincidence much? You think someone found out we were coming here?” When Maddock didn’t comment, Bones went on. “Wanna try grabbing one of these guys? Maybe get some answers?”

“We’re outnumbered and outgunned. It’s not worth the risk. Let’s head back.”

“These guys are gonna be gone soon. We’ll have the place to ourselves and we’ve got plenty of time. Might as well have a look around, right?”

Bones wasn’t wrong. The most of the people had already moved to the north end of the site where a long row of mud-splattered SUVs waited. Only a few stragglers remained, hurrying across the rain-soaked field to join their colleagues.

But Maddock shook his head. “You heard what they said. Bell got it wrong. There’s nothing here that even remotely links to the City of Shadow. No glyphs. No secret passages or cenotes. Nothing to… ”

He trailed off as something clicked in his mind.

“I know the sound of a Maddock epiphany when I hear one,” Bones said. “Care to share?”

“Bell assumed that the Serpent Road described in the guidestone would connect Maya cities. But what if that’s wrong?”

Bones made a “get on with it” gesture.

“That park employee said the gods ‘hid the city from mortal eyes.’ The Maya didn’t built temples to the death gods, but they did worship them by offering sacrifices at symbolic entrances to the Underworld.” He checked his phone — two bars.

Worth a try, he thought, and started composing a text message. There was little chance of being spotted or overheard now, and this couldn’t wait.

“I still don’t get it,” Bones admitted. “If the spots on the glyph aren’t cities or temples, what are they?”

Maddock grinned. “They’re cenotes.”