Mayan December (20 page)

CHAPTER 33

A woman in a black uniform gave Alice a flat emotionless stare over a cool smile. “You’re cleared. Five minutes.”

Don Carlo had been here when she arrived, in quiet conversation with one of the female agents. Alice had been interrupted by the woman in black before she could greet him, and now he still looked busy.

Her confusion at the brief glimpse of old Chichén she’d shared with Marie had turned to anger. What if time wouldn’t damn well stand still? Why hadn’t Ian called? Come back? She stared out the window, trying to ignore the hum of conversation behind her.

Don Carlo appeared at her side with a cup of coffee. She took it, nodding her thanks, curling her hands around the cup. Her stomach wanted food. She spied a long table full of sweet sugar buns, mangos, and grapes. She popped a grape into her mouth and took a bun in her free hand, savoring the very idea of thick, heavy bread to sop up the bitter morning coffee.

Before she could finish even half the bread, the biggest black suit stood in the doorway. Cross-chatter stopped and the twenty or so folk in the room started heading toward him, forming a pre-arranged line.

She glanced at the half a roll in her hand and shrugged, stuffing it into a napkin and shoving it in her pocket. Don Carlo saw her and winked. Alice walked over to stand next to him in line, her coffee cup still in her hand.

A young man dressed in black plucked the cup from her and placed it on a nearby table

Alice barely suppressed a nervous giggle. Best not to walk out and meet the important people holding a disrespectful—perhaps dangerous—cup of coffee.

As she passed through the door, the sun was so bright it almost made her duck. Clouds hugged the southern horizon, but the rain had apparently bypassed Chichén this morning. They rounded a corner, a neat line, everyone moving to their pre-assigned places.

Alice’s place was a few feet away from Marie, who had in truth transformed to a power in look as well as feel. She wore sensible but elegant slacks and a short-sleeved beige explorer’s shirt without a single speck of dirt on it. A Mayan-styled pin that represented two butterflies caught her hair up elegantly. Her cheeks had a slight glow to them and her lips were redder, brighter, and fuller.

She glanced at Alice, her blue eyes cool and appraising.

So serious. Should she should be worried? Had she said the wrong thing? And then Alice caught her breath as the President of the United States came up alongside Marie, speaking in a low, familiar voice. He wore khaki slacks and a white polo, and might have been any young professional by his dress and stance.

He walked near Alice as he greeted the President of Mexico, a tall man with raven-black hair and eyes, and wearing a three piece raven-black suit, apparently unfazed by the hot sun beating down on his dark clothes. A smaller man in a rumpled brown suit stood beside him, looking more at ease than his boss.

Huo Jiang, the Minister of Environmental Protection of the People’s Republic of China, came next. His formal suit matched the President of Mexico’s. As the two men shook hands, they looked like penguins ready for a formal ice ball in the middle of the tropics.

Huo Jiang was accompanied by three equally formally dressed men, and a young woman with black hair pulled into a severe bun.

Even before the formalized greetings between Huo Jiang and the presidents finished, the Indian prime minister, Aditi Roy, drove up in a new Toyota hybrid car. When she climbed out, only two people accompanied her, one woman and one man, each in light flowing clothes that looked perfect for the heat. Because of her briefings, Alice identified them as a prominent climate change scientist and a bodyguard. Alice liked seeing the prime minister here, like the presidents.

Following on their heels, Emelio Pella, the European Union’s Commissioner for the Environment, emerged from a big blue bus in the parking lot, followed by seven others, the largest contingent of all.

Alice watched the dance of official greeting solemnly, reviewing the right honorifics for everyone in her head.

Did they have dreams of old Maya?

What if she led these people to the old world?

Maybe if she just thought about modern things like cars and climate change and the European Union. While touring an ancient ruin. Right. Alice shifted on her feet. Sweat poured down her temples. There was nothing for it, not now, but to be her best.

Marie finally brought the heads of state over to meet her and Don Carlo, allowing each of the dignitaries to introduce their entourages.

It took a wry look from Marie to shock Alice into acting. “Please follow me.” She led the group toward the Caracol.

The first part of the tour was normal, unless you counted the extra company of security-types with the tense demeanor of herding dogs.

Between locations, whispers spun behind her back. When she started talking tour-talk, the conversations stopped. Her audience asked informed we’ve-just-been-briefed questions, but with the exception of Aditi Roy, they were far more interested in each other than in Alice’s presentation. Prime Minster Roy walked next to Alice, smiling, her bright blue and yellow sari adding cheer to the late morning. She felt like good company, almost like a generic version of an old friend or a grandmother. Madam Roy was rumored to have diplomatic teeth. If so, she didn’t show them now.

Don Carlo’s official job was to tour the hangers-on and aides, ostensibly so that each group was small enough, although Alice suspected it was to allow the whispers she heard behind her to go on unencumbered by minions. Her friend seemed to be doing well. Bursts of laughter floated over to her group.

The tour was paced by a tall black man in a white shirt and loose white karate-style pants who had appeared as soon as they started to move, and who gestured Alice onward from time to time. The man in white, the more congenial counterpart of the woman in black from this morning.

And of course, guards waited, watching. Not following—simply standing. Some with dogs. Close enough together that Alice never really felt like she could breath easily.

They started down the white road toward the cenote of sacrifice.

The old sacbe had nearly glowed with perfection. The surface of this re-creation was rougher, as if the archeologists couldn’t quite imagine the Mayans had done a true, finely finished job.

She gave them time to gather at the edge of the viewing platform for the cenote. It rested on top of a cliff, and the deep well of water glittered nearly twenty feet below, a perfect circle of azure surrounded by pale green and white limestone, and a multitude of healthy jungle greens. The scent of hot water and rotting vegetation rose faintly under the sweeter smells of flowers that lined the cliff. Alice said, “This is why they built Chichén Itzá here. Places had power to the Mayans, and by their actions they could augment the power of places. Water
always
had power.

“There is another cenote on the grounds which was used for daily access to water. This one served as a sacred place of power. People traveled here from far away, a little like pilgrimages to Mecca today. Rulers controlled important trade routes and resources, and water was the most precious of all.”

Commissioner Pella, the Italian, stared down into the water as if it both fascinated and horrified him. “Didn’t they perform sacrifices here?”

Alice frowned at his condescending tone. “There were skeletons found when this cenote was dredged, but many more other artifacts. Blood sacrifice was for wars, for major ceremonies, and for hard times. Daily wishes were simpler and less costly.”

Marie stared down at the pool. “Still, imagine being thrown into such deep water, trussed up so that you couldn’t move. Imagine drowning in such a pretty place.”

Emilio Pella laughed, condescending. “Your heart would have been cut from you first.”

Marie glanced over at Alice. “Would that have been true?”

Alice nodded. “There are many legends and some glyphs that suggest that people chose to sacrifice themselves for the sake of their people. Kings are depicted decapitating themselves in some Mayan centers.”

Marie looked away for a moment, then back. “Dying for your country is not new. Kamikazes. Suicide bombers.”

“No,” Pella said, “But surely most sacrifices didn’t choose to die; they were simply murdered.” He glared at Alice, a subtle dare in his eyes. “This culture was no better than yours, or mine. History was bloody. We must rise above it.”

“History has lessons for us,” she said, trying to keep her patience. “But you’re right, perhaps many sacrifices were just brutal killings by our standards.” She paused. “We’re still learning about the culture that lived here.”

Emilio seemed to lose interest, shifting and looking at his watch.

Alice turned to Marie and then Madam Roy. “There is a legend that the offering of a prayer at the sacred cenote of Chichén Itzá has special power. In light of your work to broker understanding between nations—peace and a healthy climate—we obtained permission for each of you to toss in a coin from your own country.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a dollar, a yuan, a euro, and a rupee. They glittered in the sunshine.

Huo Jiang came forward and took the yuan, tossing into the cenote with an air of disdain. He said nothing.

Alice bit her lip. This had been her suggestion.

Aditi Roy glared at Huo Jiang and took the Indian coin. She held the rupee to her heart and murmured silently, then tossed it in a graceful arc into the still water.

The President of the United States took the dollar coin from Alice’s outstretched hand, and spoke out loud. “I wish for a better world and a healthy land, for all of our children.” He tossed the silver dollar, which turned over and over in the air before falling into the deep pool. When he rose, he smiled.

Pella licked his lips and looked at Alice and the last coin she held in her hand as if he were watching a snake. He glanced at Huo Jiang and back at Alice. Then he laughed. “A good tourist trick. I will play.” He took the euro and tossed it high into the air almost immediately, watching it fall. When it splashed into the water he spoke a single word. “Peace.”

Next, they climbed K’uk’ulkan, the long line of dignitaries trying to keep their dignity while coping with the steep, narrow steps. At the top, photographers lay in wait, vultures snapping picture after picture. The tour group was clearly used to this; they posed for a few minutes and then ignored the journalists. They answered no questions.

Alice got included in a few shots before she was politely elbowed out of the way. She took the opportunity to look down from near where she and Marie had stood this morning, her heart catching for a moment at the dark faces and hair below her. But it was only local people bustling about with decorations and testing thoroughly modern sound systems.

After the photographers finally backed off, the whole group rested at the top for a few long and surprisingly easy minutes, the view across the multi-greened wave of jungle canopy enough to shock almost all of them to silence.

For the first time since early this morning, Marie stood close enough to Alice for a private conversation. She leaned down, pointing at something imaginary off in the distance. “This morning. How many other people is this happening to?” she whispered.

Alice answered as softly. “Everyone that was with me the day before yesterday, and yes, we were in the past, then.” She grimaced. “In a place I dreamed of before I went there. But I don’t know of anyone else. Until you. Can you investigate?”

Marie raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you see the headlines now? P
RESIDENTIAL
S
CIENCE
A
DVISOR
I
NVESTIGATES
M
AGIC
?” She laughed. “I can’t do this. Can you?”

“I’ve been trying.” There wasn’t much time. “If I learn anything, how do I reach you?”

Marie handed her a piece of paper. “This phone number is direct. It’s good all week.”

Alice slid the paper into her pocket.

Marie’s smile was tinged with mischief. “I’ll try to catch up with you during dinner.”

Alice felt immediately forgiven and trusted. Before she had a chance to reply, Marie turned back to Huo Jiang, her formal face forward.

Alice swallowed and signaled to the guy in white pants that it was time to gather the group for the climb down. It always took longer to go down than people expected.

She had told them the Caracol was built to align with the solstice axis, to allow the Pleiades to be viewed from a high window, and to let astronomers inside see the extremes of the rise and set of Venus. They had already known about the fabulous snake of light and shadow that cavorted along the steps of the temple of K’uk’ulkan every equinox.

She’d kept the Ball Court for last.

When Alice and her string of important ducklings arrived, the huge space was already being prepared. Barriers had been erected so that only those with special tickets or dispensation could get in. Bleachers stained the space at either end—an evil sacrifice for the god money, even though she and Nix had seats there for tomorrow. A small army of volunteers carefully hung colorful banners along the walls.

She raised her voice over the background of workers. “Gather in please. I’d like everyone to hear this.” Alice centered the group in the middle of the Ball Court. She stood just behind a stone disk with a relief carving of the sun passing through a circle on it. They obediently gathered around her, Marie standing closest to Alice, then Emilio, Huo Jiang, and tiny Aditi Roy, with all of their hangers-on behind, but near.

Don Carlo stood beside Alice. The sun struck her almost full-face, summoning beads of sweat onto her forehead.

She pointed down at the stone. “This replica was made by a contemporary Mayan shaman, to replace one that is now in a museum. This marker identifies the center of the sacred space that the Ball Court represents. The symbol here represents the ball passing through the ring,” she pointed at a great stone ring suspended from the Ball Court wall, “which in turn represents the sun passing through a number of centers. The rebirth of the sun, if you will.”