Steve Alten - The Mayan Resurrection

Beneath this cushion of energy, the alien starship rises. Dorsal plates punch upward through the roof. Steel beams and metal sheeting tumble like kindling.

Lilith pulls herself free from beneath the fallen gantry and looks up, screaming her outrage, as the starship Balam disappears into the approaching gray storm clouds of Super-Cane Kenneth.

Delray Beach, Florida

11:37 p.m.

One-hundred-thirty-mile-an-hour gusts whip through the deserted streets of Dade, Broward, and Palm Beach Counties, announcing the arrival of Super-Cane Kenneth’s outer wind bands. The once-tranquil ocean swells thirty-five feet, the storm surge submerging the beach before pouring over sea walls to inundate scenic highway A-1-A. Waves lap against storefronts. A driving rain lashes palm fronds and debris, turning refuse into miniature missiles.

And the superstorm’s eye is still nine hours out to sea.

Cuddling beneath the blanket, Immanuel Gabriel curls his naked body around Lauren, nuzzling her neck, while outside, fierce winds hammer the steel hurricane storm shutters.

‘I feel safe in your arms,’ Lauren whispers.

‘I missed you.’

‘Why you were at the Cape?’

‘I was… visiting a relative.’

She rolls over to face him. ‘Who?’

‘My mother. My biological mother.’

‘I don’t understand?’

‘Lauren, I was adopted. I never told you about it because, well, I sort of wrote them out of my life long ago.’

She sits up. ‘Them?’

‘I have a brother. I saw him this week for the first time in six years. He has problems, mental problems. My mother may have to put him in an asylum. That’s why I had to come up to the Cape this week. She wanted me to see him before he’s locked away.’

‘I don’t know what to say. Are you okay with all this?’

‘Guess I’m a little screwed up.’

‘Can I meet them?’

‘Someday.’

She lays her head on his chest. ‘All this time, I had this terrible premonition you were getting ready to leave me.’

He swallows the lump in his throat. ‘I’m not leaving you.’

‘Promise?’

The wind howls outside and he hugs her tighter. ‘I’m not leaving you, Lauren. I promise.’

Hope Control Room, MTI Operational Headquarters,

Cocoa Beach, Florida

Saturday

2:35 a.m.

Lilith Mabus is in her late husband’s private office, seated before a wall of computer monitors. The upper two rows are real-time links being broadcast from NATS-Nanosat Trailblazer Spheres-cluster satellites, no larger than a basketball. Thousands of these spheres orbit the Earth, scanning every square inch of the planet.

Despite NATS extensive coverage, the alien starship is nowhere to be found.

‘Computer, replay security sequence.’

Another set of screens activate, revealing different angles of the perimeter security fencing surrounding Hangar 13.

The figure of a dark-haired man appears on screen. He crosses the compound and heads for the fence. Pauses, then practically vaults over the steel barrier before disappearing into the night.

Lilith’s azure eyes widen. ‘Computer, rewind and replay sequence at half speed.’

The image begins again.

‘Freeze. Focus on subject’s face. Increase magnification by ten.’

A blue square frames the man’s face, expanding and focusing.

The image of Samuel Agler appears on screen, frozen in time.

Jacob’s twin… the dark-haired one still lives! ‘Computer, identify subject.’

SAMUEL AGLER, IDENTIFICATION 13-9-23-FL-742-45-M. SUBJECT IS A PCAA ATHLETE CURRENTLY ENROLLED AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI.

Lilith claps her hands in delight. ‘Samuel, “the Mule” Agler is Immanuel Gabriel? Computer, tap into all government resources and communication links. Check identifications in all storm shelters and every mode of transportation. I want Samuel Agler found before dawn.’

Delray Beach, Florida

7:50 a.m.

Super-Cane Kenneth’s fury rips across South Florida’s landmass like a mad bull, uprooting trees, peeling away antiquated tile roofs, churning the community beneath a blizzard of wind and water.

Guided by its autopilot, the black stretch limousine finds its way through the storm, eventually arriving at the estate registered to Frank Stansbury. The vehicle parks itself beneath the huge porte cochere. A woman dashes for the front door.

Dominique shakes water from her hair, then hugs Ennis Chaney. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the shower. His fiancee’s here, too.’

‘Lauren’s here? Has he told her?’

‘He said he would.’

Lauren enters the foyer, dressed in a sweat suit. ‘Has he told me what? Who are you?’

Dominique turns on a smile. ‘I’m Immanuel’s mother. It’s so good to finally meet you.’

Lauren looks lost. ‘Immanuel? Who’s Immanuel?’

‘I am.’ Manny exits the bathroom.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Lauren, this is my real mother, Dominique Gabriel.’

‘Gabriel? Immanuel Gabriel…’ She makes the connection. ‘Oh, no… oh my God-’

‘Lauren-’

She pushes him away, then covers her mouth, fighting to breath. ‘But you’re dead. And Sam… who’s Sam-’

‘Calm down and listen-’

‘You lied… all these years.’

‘I had to. Can you understand that I had to lie? If word got out-’

‘We have to go,’ Chaney announces.

‘Go where?’ Dominique and Lauren ask in unison.

‘Jacob’s given me very explicit instructions. We’ll take your limo. Dominique, Manny, let’s go. Lauren, you’re supposed to stay here.’

‘No way.’ Lauren grabs Immanuel’s arm. ‘Wherever he goes, I’m going, too.’

‘Out of the question,’ Chaney states.

‘Either she comes, or I stay,’ Immanuel says.

Chaney eyeballs his godson, who returns the old man’s glare. ‘God dammit, I’m too old for this foolishness.’ He looks at Lauren, the girl desperate. ‘Okay, everyone in the goddam car!’

Meteorology Lab, University of Miami

7:50 a.m.

The Meteorology Center is a beehive of activity as dozens of technicians from the Earth Systems Management Agency track Super-Cane Kenneth, its monstrous eye less than twenty miles offshore.

Bruce Doyle stares at the cyclone’s image on his screen.

Sweet Jesus, it’s heading straight for Biscayne Bay…

Two floors down, Special Agent Collin Shelby sips his coffee as he waits for the latest encoded dispatch from UMBRA headquarters in Virginia. Twenty hours earlier, Lauren Beckmeyer’s fiance had placed an unsecured communication from Miami Beach. Satellite eavesdropping had immediately zeroed in on both subjects, who had headed north and were given shelter in a Delray Beach home registered to a retired airline pilot going by the name of Frank Stansbury. This last bit of information was quite disconcerting. What if it’s another biological attack…

Shelby’s communicator vibrates. He places the sunglasses on his face, reading the encrypted message appearing across the inside of the tinted lenses.

ALERT: SUBJECT’S VEHICLE TRAVELING SOUTH ON SH-95, HEADING FOR MIAMI. FLOOD ZONE.

Shelby rubs his sleep-deprived eyes. ‘Flood Zone’ was UMBRA’s term for killing the subject and all witnesses. Whatever act of terrorism this Lauren Beckmeyer and her accomplices were planning had to be something big.

The government assassin checks his weapons, then grabs his rain gear and heads for the door.

Inside the Limousine, Miami Beach, Florida

9:36 a.m.

Immanuel squeezes Lauren’s trembling hand.

They are seated in the back of the swaying limo, along with his mother, Ennis Chaney, and Dr. Mohr’s wife, Eve. The two bodyguards are up front, praying the autopilot will guide them to their undisclosed destination before Super-Cane Kenneth pummels them to death.