Sunfail (32 page)

Jake could just about trace the lines of what was obviously a skull. “So you think they’re Mayan? Isn’t that all a bit . . . 2012? End-of-the-world prophecies and all that?” He hadn’t even considered them being anything other than the super-rich, American, venal, greedy—the powerbrokers, the movers and shakers of the city. That they could be rooted in some long-extinct societal heritage had never crossed his mind, but it certainly provided the motivation he’d wondered about earlier. They were taking back what was once theirs. Jake considered this, then nodded.

“I don’t think they’re some long-lost branch of the Mayan civilization, no,” Finn said. “At least not genetically. Spiritually, maybe. There’s an affinity, a strong one—you only have to look at the names they’ve chosen for their assassins: they’re all the names of Mayan gods and goddesses, most of them associated with death in some way. This is our missing link. This is what turns a coincidence into a pattern, Jake.”

“I got this off one of them,” he told her, pulling the ceramic knife from the sheath on his thigh and laying it on the flat of her outstretched hand.

She was careful not to touch the blade’s edge as she studied it. “It’s obsidian,” she said after a minute, “and chipped rather than forged, I think. The style, the materials, the decoration, it’s all classic Mayan.” She handed it back to him.

He handed her the gold pin he’d taken from the same guy. “What about this?”

She turned it over in her hand, studying it. “It’s not. At least, the eye isn’t. That’s Egyptian, the Eye of Horus. It’s a popular image, supposedly gives protection and health. The circle—see the markings here?” Jake and Ryan leaned in closer. There was a pattern around the eye, and it looked a lot like things Jake had seen on Mexican coins and calendars. “That’s Mayan, or maybe Olmec.” She frowned and clicked over to the image of the underwater ruins again. “Mayan and Egyptian together.” She shook her head. “It’s strange. I suppose it’s not out of the question that refugees or colonists from Egypt could have wound up forming the start of the Mayan Empire. That would explain the ruins. They may have been the bridge stage, between their old culture and their new one, some of the heritage bleeding into the new, being subsumed by the locals, rather than consumed, and altered to fit their own circumstances.” She was getting excited, Jake could tell. Her words came thick and fast, like she could barely keep up with her thoughts and their ramifications. “The Mayans were about the end of one thing and the start of the next, but the Egyptians, they were more about the journey, weighing the soul and proving its worth before being allowed to move on. There’s a heavy element of gatekeeper-ship in their mythos, the idea that someone has to stand in judgment and decide who is worthy and who isn’t.” Now her eyes grew wide. “If you combine the two cultures, the way these ruins suggest, you might wind up with a people who know when this age will end and feel it’s their duty to control the transition and make sure those who are worthy will survive and even prosper as the new age dawns.”

“The Hidden,” Jake said. “That’s what the name means. They’ve been hidden all this time, in plain sight, watching and waiting, preparing for this day. Ready to sit in judgment and dispense their justice to the unworthy. That’s why they could act so quickly—they’ve had years to plan this all out. Every last detail.”

“All but one,” she said. “They didn’t count on
you.
Make the call.”

CHAPTER FORTY

THE LIMO CAME TO COLLECT THEM AT FIRST LIGHT. The driver didn’t say anything as he opened the door.

“Harry,” Jake said, looking at him. “Or should I call you Cabrakan?”

“You can call me whatever you like, Jake. We’re old friends.”

“I thought we were.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed,” Jake disagreed.

The other man didn’t contradict him this time.

Jake had come alone; he didn’t want to drag the others any deeper in. They were also his insurance policy. If things went south he was relying on them to get the information out there somehow. All Ryan needed was a computer and he could disseminate the truth far and wide. He had connections in hacktivist groups like Anonymous, the kind of people who had an interest in getting the truth out there. Not that Jake expected anyone to listen.

“Where are we going?”

“Where you wanted to go. Mr. Alom’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“I wish I could say it was mutual.”

They drove awhile in silence. Life hadn’t returned to normal—the roads were still clogged with abandoned vehicles. Snow made it worse now. It would be weeks before it was cleared, but there were already signs of the National Guard moving in and beginning the clean-up. Jake didn’t see a single dog on the drive. Harry kept to the fringes of the borough, wending his way to his destination, a riverside heliport. The cranes of the docks towered over the scene, unmoving. There was a white Sikorsky S-76C on the tarmac. The pilot was already in his chair, the rotors turning over slowly.

“After you,” Harry said, pulling up on the hard stand.

“One question,” Jake said, unclipping his belt.

“Shoot.”

“Did you kill Sophie?”

Harry turned to face him. “Would it make any difference if I said no?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t kill her. You have my word.”

Jake stared at the man and realized he had no way of knowing how hollow that word was. Up until a few days ago he would have said Harry Kane was one of his few real friends in the world, now he had no idea who he was. What he did know was
what
Harry was: a killer.

“How did you get messed up in all of this, Harry?”

“You said one question, Jake. That’s two.”

“I’m just trying to understand.”

“Then save your questions for Mr. Alom.”

“What about you? Don’t you ask questions anymore?”

“As few as possible. Come on, he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

They clambered out of the limo, leaving the doors open as they crossed the tarmac to the waiting helicopter. The rotors began to chop the air, the engine’s whir turning into a roar. The downdraft battered them as they ducked low.

“Relax, mate,” Harry said, his Englishness coming out in that single world. “If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. We’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill you, believe me.”

“That’s not as comforting as you’d think,” Jake said.

Harry laughed. “I guess not. Just remember, you asked for this. No one forced you into it.”

“Again, not as comforting as you’d think.”

“No offense, but I need to pat you down, make sure you don’t try anything stupid. Up against the car, spread ’em,” Harry said, this time putting on a piss-poor American accent.

Jake did as he was told.

As Harry’s hands moved up the inside of his right thigh they found the obsidian knife. Harry stripped him of it, tossing it aside. Satisfied there were no other surprises concealed on his person, he told Jake to buckle up and try to enjoy the flight.

A minute later they were rising up over the canyons of the city.

Jake stared out of the window as they streaked south down the line of the Hudson River before banking west toward the New Jersey blight. The world looked so small down there. If he’d needed any sort of dividing line between the haves and the have-nots in this world, this journey was it. The Sikorsky was about thirteen million bucks’ worth of extravagance. It was also the only thing in the sky. It rode the thermals, skimming over the rooftops of the skyscrapers before angling away toward the sea.

It took twenty minutes before the city was a thing of the past and the distant white blur on the horizon resolved into the shape of a luxury super-yacht with concave surfacing and sleek lines as well as its own onboard pool that jutted out from the transom.

The pilot brought them down smoothly onto the helipad.

A woman waited on the sundeck. She was dressed in a pencil skirt and crisp white blouse with her hair pulled back in a tight bun.

“She really is something, isn’t she?” Harry said.

He wasn’t wrong. The woman’s lines were more impressive than the super-yacht’s.

“I’ve seen better,” Jake said.

“Of course you have. Come on then, let’s get this over with, shall we?” He let Jake out first. “Miss Kinch Ahau,” he said, inclining his head deferentially.

“Cabrakan,” she replied. “Mr. Carter, Mr. Alom is expecting you. If you’d be so kind as to follow me?” She led them across the sundeck to a stairway that led up to a glass-fronted cabin that offered an incredible view of the sea from all aspects.

“How the 1 Percent lives,” Jake said, doing his best to take it all in.

The woman opened the door without responding. The interior was the epitome of wealth over taste. Jake stood on the threshold.

“Come in, Mr. Carter,” a voice said from inside. “Miss Kinch Ahau, please see to it that we are not disturbed.”

“Yes sir.”

“And invite Cabrakan to join us.”

“Yes sir. Anything else?”

“That will be all, thank you. Close the door behind you on the way out.”

She nodded and backed up a step, allowing Jake past, then closed the door.

“Sit, please. No reason we can’t be civil about this, Mr. Carter.”

Jake still couldn’t see the speaker. There were three leather armchairs in the room. Jake took the middle one, and turned the angle slightly so it faced the room’s one solid wall. It was made of rich lacquered wood, and within the grains he was sure he could make out some of the same swirls and spirals of the Mayan symbols he’d seen elsewhere. They were subtle, and he could just as easily be seeing patterns where there were none, but before he could rise and cross the room to check, a door opened on the far side of the cabin and an older man with silver hair and steel-gray eyes entered. Midseventies, Jake guessed, but in good physical condition, not bowed by the weight of years on his narrow shoulders. A regular Hugh Hefner playboy character. There was something about his face, though, that didn’t look quite right. No doubt he had small scars behind his ears from where the surgeon had performed the lift. Jake rose out of habit, though stopped short of offering his hand.

“Now, this is a pretty mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, isn’t it, Mr. Carter?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jake countered.

“So, perhaps you should tell me why you wanted this meeting. I see little benefit in it, personally, but Cabrakan made a good case for your life. You should thank him.”

“I’ll try to remember that. As to why I wanted to face you, apart from knowing my enemy? Short term: survival. Long term: survival.”

“Indeed?”

“Look, it doesn’t take a genius to know you outrank me in society’s chain of command. I’m a grunt, you’re a general.”

The old man offered a wry smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Carter. Is that the plan?”

“Something like that.”

“Perhaps you’d like to explain to me why I shouldn’t simply have Cabrakan throw you overboard and be done with it. You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side, Mr. Carter. I am not a forgiving man. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can appeal to my better nature. You have cost me a lot of money, more than you can possibly imagine, and that is not even the worst of your crimes. You’ve left a trail of bodies in your wake that I am sure the authorities would be interested in, for one. But that’s just being petty. You obviously view me as some kind of monster, no?”

“It has crossed my mind.”

“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Carter.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you a patriot?”

“Of course.”

Alom nodded. “As am I. I love my country, Mr. Carter. Fiercely. Everything I do, I do out of love for this great nation of ours. I watch over her.”

“Like a vampire watching over big herd of human cattle.”

“No, no, no, not like that at all. I look around and I see everything our fathers and our forefathers built slowly crumbling and decaying and I want to stop that. I see riots in Ferguson, Los Angeles, and Baltimore, and I feel immense pain.” He held a hand flat against his heart. “I see people without hope, ground down by circumstance and failure, and I want to do something.”

“Profit.”

“Cynical, Mr. Carter. I want to make a difference. I want to protect everything that is great about this nation of ours.”

“You make it sound like a noble cause.”

“It is. I’m not the monster you are looking for. Look around you, look at a government that has its hands bound tight by conflict in both houses of Congress, that can’t pass legislation to make even the least bit of difference because it’s all about politics and fear. Look at how insular everything is. We don’t have global leadership initiatives in place to handle things like the climate and depletion of natural resources, and they are global issues. Wouldn’t you agree that our greatest debt to the world—and our greatest challenge as a species—is to build a
better
world? Aren’t things like clean water, nutritious food, affordable housing, education, medical care, safe energy, access to high-tech communications and information, and freedom—aren’t these things all basic human rights? A life of possibility for all?”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re some sort of benevolent force sneaking around in the background trying to make everything all right?”

“I’m trying to tell you that things are not as black-and-white as you might like to believe. Everything I do, I do it for the greater good. Take what I believe to be one of humanity’s greatest failings: aging. I truly believe we are within striking distance of changing everything. We already know so much about how life works, and our scientists—men and women working in clinics we fund in Switzerland—are in the process of developing a medicine that will bring aging under the same degree of control that we already have for most infectious diseases. Think of it, think of the pain and suffering caused by age-related conditions like Alzheimer’s, macular degeneration, dementia, cardiovascular disease, cancer, all of them brought under control.
That
is the greater good.
That
is what governments like ours will never bring us, because they cannot work together. So we take matters into our own hands. Money can change the world, Mr. Carter. And I make no apologies for being a very, very rich man.”