Domain (28 page)

The second clue is that of the Nazca monkey. This immense icon, drawn in one continuous line, features a tail that ends in a concentric spiraling circle, identical to the shape appearing within the pyramid figure.

The Maya glorified the monkey, treating it as another species of people. In the creation myth of the
Popol Vuh
, the fourth cycle of the world was said to have been destroyed by a great flood. The few people who survived were believed to have been turned into monkeys. The fact that monkeys do not exist in either Giza or the southern region of Peru indicated to me that the pyramid referenced on the Nazca pampa had to be in Mesoamerica.

Whales do not belong in the desert either, yet there are likenesses of three of these majestic beasts present on the Nazca plateau. Theorizing the mysterious artist had used the whales to represent a three-skied boundary of water on the pampa, I attempted to convince Maria that the pyramid in question had to represent one of the Mayan temples located on the Yucatan Peninsula.

For his part, Pierre Borgia was not interested in either one of our theories. Chasing after Mayan ghosts no longer mattered to Maria’s fiancé; what mattered was power. As mentioned earlier, I could see this development coming for some time. While Maria and I had been busy exploring the tombs, Pierre had been finalizing plans to run for Congress back in the States. Two days after we had made our discovery, he announced, with great pomp and circumstance, that it was high time he and the future Mrs. Borgia moved on to more important things.

I was heartbroken.

Wedding plans were quickly arranged. Pierre and Maria would be married at St. John’s Cathedral, I to serve as best man.

What could I do? I felt desperate, believing with all my heart that Maria was destined to be my soul mate. Pierre treated her as a possession, not an equal. She was his trophy, his Jackie Onassis-arm-candy he deemed would serve well as first lady to his political ambitions. Did he love her? Perhaps, for what man could not? But did she truly love him?

This I had to know.

It was not till the eve of their wedding day that I managed the courage to confess my love to her aloud. Looking into those beautiful eyes, swimming in black pools of velvet, I could only imagine the gods smiling upon my wretched soul as Maria pulled my head to her bosom and sobbed.

She had been harboring the same feelings for me! Maria confessed that she had been praying for me to come forward and rescue her from a life with Pierre, whom she cared for but did not love.

In that blessed moment, I became her salvation and she mine. Like desperate lovers, we stole away that night, each leaving Pierre a note, apologizing for our unforgivable act and intentions, neither of us strong enough to face the man in person.

Twenty hours later we arrived in Egypt—Mr. and Mrs. Julius Gabriel.

—Excerpt from the Journal of Professor Julius Gabriel,

Ref. Catalogue 1974-75 pages 45-62.

Photo Journal Floppy Disk 2: File name: NAZCA, Photos 34 & 65

Photo Journal Floppy Disk 3: File name: STONEHENGE, Drawing 6.

Chapter 15

NOVEMBER 27, 2012
SANIBEL ISLAND, FLORIDA

T
he shrill caw of a seagull causes Mick to open his eyes.

He is lying in a double bed, his wrists bound along either side of the frame. His left forearm is heavily bandaged. An IV tube drips into his right.

He is in a bedroom. Slats of golden sunlight reflect along the far wall, seeping in through Venetian blinds rattling above his head. He can smell the salt air. He can hear the ocean’s surf from the open window above his head.

A gray-haired woman in her seventies enters the room. “So, you’re awake.” She removes the Velcro strap from his right wrist, then checks the IV bag.

“Are you Edie?”

“No, I’m Sue, Carl’s wife.”

“Who’s Carl? What am I doing here?”

“We felt it was too dangerous to take you to Edie’s. Dominique’s there, and—”

“Dominique?” Mick struggles to sit up, the dizziness forcing him down again like a heavy, unseen hand.

“Just take it easy, fella. You’ll see Dominique soon enough. Right now, the police are watching her, waiting for you to show up.” She removes the IV tube and places a Band-Aid on his arm.

“Are you a doctor?”

“I was my husband’s dental nurse for thirty-eight years.” Methodically, she wraps up the IV bag and tube.

Mick notices the red-rimmed eyes.

“What was in the IV?”

“Vitamins mostly. You were in pretty bad shape when you arrived two nights ago. Mostly just malnourished, although your left arm was butchered pretty good. You’ve slept for almost two days. Last night, you had a nasty nightmare, screaming in your sleep. I had to secure your wrists so you wouldn’t pull out the IV.”

“Thank you. And thanks for getting me out of that asylum.”

“Thank Dominique.” Sue reaches into the pocket of her housecoat.

Mick is startled to see her remove a .44 Magnum. She points the gun at his groin.

“Whoa, hey, wait a second—”

“My husband drowned several days ago aboard Isadore’s boat. Three men died while investigating that location in the Gulf you told Dominique about. What’s down there?”

“I don’t know.” He stares at the gun, shaking within the elderly woman’s hands. “Do you think you could aim that gun at a less vital organ?”

“Dominique’s told us all about you, about why you were locked up, and about your screwball father and his doomsday stories. Personally, I couldn’t give a goddam about whatever psychotic apocalyptic mumbo jumbo you believe in, the only thing I care about is finding out what happened to my Carl. In my book, you’re a dangerous escaped felon. You so much as look at me the wrong way, and I’ll put a bullet in you.”

“I understand.”

“No you don’t. Dominique took a big risk in freeing you. So far, everything having to do with your escape points back to the orderly screwing up and not to her, but the police are still suspicious. They’re watching her closely, which means all of us are at risk. Later tonight, we’re going to smuggle you aboard Rex’s boat. There’s a minisub on board—”

“A minisub?”

“That’s right. Rex used it to search sunken ships. You’re going to use it to find out what’s buried beneath the seafloor. Between now and then, you’re going to stay in this bedroom and rest. If you try to escape, I’ll shoot you and turn your body over to the cops to collect the reward money.”

She lifts the sheet by his feet. His left ankle is shackled to the bedframe.

“Now you understand.”

NASA: Goddard Space Flight Center
Greenbelt, Maryland.

Ennis Chaney begrudgingly follows the NASA technician down the antiseptic, white-tiled corridor.

The vice president is not in a good mood. The United States is on the threshold of war, and his place is with the president and his Joint Chiefs of Staff, not racing to the beck and call of the director of NASA.
Goddam one-eyed Jack, no doubt sending me on another one of his goddam wild-goose chases
…

He is surprised to find a security guard posted by the conference-room door.

Spotting Chaney, the guard types in a security code and opens the door. “Go ahead in, sir, they’re waiting.”

NASA Director Brian Dodds is seated at the head of the conference table, flanked by Marvin Teperman and a woman in her late thirties wearing a white lab coat.

Chaney notices the dark circles under Dodds’s eyes.

“Mr. Vice President, come in. Thank you for coming on such short notice. This is Dr. Debra Aldrich, one of NASA’s top geophysicists, and I think you already know Dr. Teperman.”

“Hello, Marvin. Dodds, this better be important—”

“It is. Sit down, sir—please.” Dodds touches a switch on the keypad before him. The lights in the room dim as a holographic image of the Gulf of Mexico appears above the table.

“This image comes from NASA’s SEASAT oceanographic observation satellite. At your request, we began scanning the Gulf in an attempt to isolate the origins of the black tide.”

Chaney watches the image jump, refocusing on a stretch of sea framed by a superimposed dotted white circle.

“Using X-Band Synthetic Aperture Radar, we were able to trace the black tide back to these coordinates, an area located about thirty-five miles northwest of the Yucatan Peninsula. Now watch.”

Dodds presses another switch. The holographic sea dissolves into bright blotches of greens and blues, at the center of which is a brilliant white circle of light, its outer borders fading to cooler shades of yellow, then red. “We’re looking down on a thermal image of the targeted area. As you can see, something very large is down there, and it’s radiating tremendous amounts of heat.”

“At first, we thought we had located an underwater volcano,” Dr. Aldrich adds, “but geological surveys completed by Mexico’s National Oil Company confirm there are no volcanoes present in the area. We ran a few more tests and found the site to be radiating high amounts of electromagnetic energy. This in itself isn’t particularly surprising. The site lies almost dead center of the Chicxulub impact crater, an area containing strong magnetic and gravitational fields—”

Chaney holds up his palm. “Excuse me for interrupting, Doctor. I’m sure this subject is fascinating to you people, but—”

Marvin grabs the VP’s wrist. “They’re trying to tell you that something is down there, Ennis. Something more important than your war. Brian, the vice president’s a busy man. Why don’t you skip the gravity gradiometric readings and pull up the acoustic tomography images.”

Dodds changes the hologram. The blotches of color dissolve into a black-and-white image of the seafloor. A deep, well-defined tunnel-like aperture shows black on the fractured gray background of the bottom.

“Sir, acoustic tomography is a remote sensing technique which passes beams of acoustic radiation, in this case, ultrasonic pulse echoes, through the seafloor, allowing us to see objects buried below.”

Chaney watches in amazement as a massive, three-dimensional ovoid object begins to define itself beneath the larger hole. Dodds manipulates the image, pulling the shape out and away from the seafloor so that it hovers freely above their heads.

“What in the hell is that?” Chaney rasps.

Marvin grins. “Only the most magnificent discovery in the history of mankind.”

The ovoid-shaped mass hovers just above Chaney’s head. “What are you yapping about, Marvin? What the hell is this thing?”

“Ennis, sixty-five million years ago, an object seven to eight miles in diameter, weighing about a trillion tons and traveling at a speed of thirty-five miles per second smashed into a shallow tropical sea of what is now the Gulf of Mexico. What we’re looking at are the remains of the very object that struck our planet and killed off the dinosaurs.”

“Come on, Marvin, this thing’s huge. How could anything that large survive such an impact?”