The Maya Codex (26 page)

Wiley nodded. ‘In recent years Chávez’s supporters, known collectively as the Chavistas, invaded the chancery of the Archdiocese of Caracas, expelling Bishop Jesús González de Zárate into the street. It was perhaps fortunate that Cardinal Velasco was not there at the time.’

The pontiff nodded. ‘Yes. They were claiming, quite erroneously, that we supported the 2002 coup attempt against President Chávez.’ Felici and Wiley exchanged glances.

‘Added to that, Holiness,’ Wiley continued, ‘almost every government in the region is leaning towards the left. Evo Morales in Bolivia, Michelle Bachelet in Chile, Tabaré Vázquez in Uruguay, Lula da Silva in Brazil, and the Sandinista, Daniel Ortega, in Nicaragua. Legislators in many of these countries are now preparing to liberalise abortion, as well as the morning-after pill, and they may well follow the lead of the Spanish president and legalise gay marriage. In the first year of that legislation 4500 gay and lesbian couples married in Spain and are now free to bring up children in the same way as their heterosexual counterparts. This may well spread, as we’ve seen in California,’ Wiley added.

‘A sad day for the Church in Spain and in the United States,’ the Pontiff observed.

Felici looked on with approval as Howard Wiley’s laser pointer roamed over the map, and Wiley expanded on the threat each country posed to oil supplies and to the influence of the United States and the Catholic Church. But with the Cardinal Secretary of State in the room, Felici reserved any further comment for his private dinner with Wiley.

29

MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY, VIENNA

N
ervous and on edge, Aleta sipped her long black coffee in the museum’s Café Nautilus.

‘I knew you would come eventually,’ Dr José Arana said. Arana’s voice was soft, but authoritative. Like many Guatemalans, he was short and stocky. His fine black hair was flecked with grey and tied back in a ponytail. Around his neck he wore a beautiful jade tablet, inscribed with his Mayan birth sign of the jaguar. His craggy brown face was etched with the wisdom of a shaman, and his dark eyes held a look of quiet peace and understanding.

‘How … how could you know that, Dr Arana?’ Aleta asked, still in a state of shock.

Arana smiled enigmatically. ‘Call me José, please. My father, Roberto, who was the village shaman in San Marcos before me, passed on the wisdom of the elders. He gave me your name and told me that one day you would seek my help.’

‘I don’t understand —’

‘Patience, my dear. Eventually all will be revealed. For now it is enough for you to know that you have a very important purpose in life. As you know, the ancient Maya left the present generation a warning.’

Aleta nodded. ‘I’ve found some references to it in my grandfather’s papers, and there’s been talk of a codex in the media, but I wasn’t sure if that was just speculation … if the codex really exists.’

‘It exists,’ Arana replied quietly, ‘but we are running out of time. The winter solstice will soon be upon us.’

Aleta’s pulse started to race. A quiet but unquestionable integrity emanated from the softly spoken Guatemalan elder. ‘Do you know where it is?’

Arana nodded. ‘Your grandfather came close to finding it before his tragic death.’

‘I don’t understand, José. If you know where it is, why don’t you just retrieve it and announce its contents to the world?’

‘If only it were that simple. Unfortunately most people dismiss the spiritual wisdom of the ancient Maya as mumbo-jumbo. In a time when happiness is sought from the material world, we ignore at our peril the wisdom of a civilisation that could accurately chart and predict planetary movements down to the last second, without the aid of a telescope. The signs of our own destruction are already with us.’

Aleta saw a great sadness in his eyes.

‘In the last year,’ Arana continued, ‘chunks of ice twice the size of London have disappeared from the Arctic and Antarctic. The planet is providing continual warnings – an increasing number of powerful earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, fires, tsunamis and cyclones, hurricanes and floods. Yet many leaders dismiss global warming as rubbish. Some countries are also conducting experiments that are being kept secret from the public, but will ultimately put the entire planet at risk.’

‘And you still don’t think people would believe you?’

‘People are driven by the herd instinct, Aleta. If the politicians and the media are sceptical, the public, too, becomes sceptical. If I were to make an announcement, the media would treat the codex as a curiosity and many would dismiss it as a fraud.’

‘I still don’t understand where I fit in to all of this.’

‘Like me, you were born under the ancient sun sign of
Balam-Ix
, the jaguar, a spirit that is infused with a deep love of Mother Earth. The jaguar’s energy, the ruling spirit of the jungles, is feminine, Aleta. The ancients were well aware of that spirit, and they have hidden the codex in such a way that it can only be discovered by someone who will understand how far the world is out of balance, and the real consequence of the alignment of the planets in December 2012. It is no accident that you have followed in your grandfather’s footsteps. An
archaeologist
will have far more credibility than any Mayan elder and the warning that the codex contains will be considered more carefully by the media and the wider public,’ Arana emphasised. ‘But as my father warned your grandfather, the Maya Codex is fiercely protected. More than one fortune seeker has paid the ultimate price, as the ancients intended it to be found only by someone who possesses the inner spiritual balance to understand it correctly.’ Arana gave Aleta a long, searching look.

‘You can’t mean me?’ she gasped.

‘You have been prompted to meet with me for a reason, Aleta, but the challenge is yours to accept or decline.’

‘If I accept such a challenge,’ Aleta asked slowly, as his words sank in, ‘will you help me, José?’

‘I can be your mentor, Aleta, but again, that is up to you. If I am to be your guide, you will have to undergo a cleansing and rebuilding of your inner spirit.’

‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘You’re not sleeping well, Aleta.’ It was a statement rather than a question. Again Aleta sensed the power around this gentle man.

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Not for some time now.’

‘I can see the unhappiness in your eyes.’

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Not to the casual observer. Outwardly you are functioning at a very high level, but your eyes tell a different story, Aleta. You have intense brown rings around your irises, which is an indication of stress and acute depression.’

From his position near a display case in one of the museum’s exhibition corridors leading to Café Nautilus, Curtis O’Connor observed the quiet conversation between Aleta Weizman and the man with the greying ponytail. O’Connor was not surprised to find that the swarthy young thug who had taken a back seat in Monsignor Jennings’ lecture was also having coffee in the museum’s restaurant, pretending to read a copy of the
Österreich Journal
. O’Connor reached again for his high-resolution camera.

‘The brown rings … do they have something to do with the iris’s connection to the brain?’

‘Exactly,’ Dr Arana answered. ‘When you are first conceived, your eyes start as part of the brain, but after separation the nerves of the iris remain connected to a part of the brain known as the hypothalamus. The eyes actually reflect the condition of all organs, and we can detect a problem, such as cancer, long before the symptoms appear in the body itself. We can also detect depression, and if you are to be successful in finding and decoding the Maya Codex, that part of your spirit will need healing.’

‘You said I’m in grave danger?’

‘Because you have embarked on a quest to find out who murdered your family, especially your father and grandfather. Your grandfather was very close to recovering the missing Maya Codex when he was murdered by the Nazis.’

Aleta swallowed, her grief rekindled. ‘What does “close” mean?’

‘My father spoke with him many times when your grandfather visited Lake Atitlán and Tikal. Your grandfather eventually found two of the three figurines that are needed to recover the codex. He had begun to decipher the hieroglyphics that would lead him to the last figurine and the Maya Codex itself, but he was murdered before he could complete his task.’

Aleta sank in her chair, the past weighing heavily on her. ‘My grandfather made some notes,’ she confided, ‘and he mentioned that three figurines would be needed to unearth the codex … but I’ve never seen any figurines.’

‘I’m sure your grandfather took steps to ensure their safekeeping. There is a divine timing in these things, Aleta. Just as we can see the powerful warning signs that are now gathering in the natural world, the two figurines your grandfather found, the remaining one and the codex itself will all remain hidden until they are meant to be discovered – and that time is now close. Because of your quest to find those who have destroyed your family, you have come to the attention of both the CIA and the Vatican. There are two very powerful men who are determined you won’t succeed. Both organisations are also determined, for different reasons, to recover the codex and keep it from the public.’ Arana paused to allow Aleta time to reflect.

‘There are two more men, one of whom will deal with the other,’ he went on. ‘You will come to trust one of these men with your life. If you decide to go on, you must come back to the shores of Lake Atitlán to prepare for your sacred mission.’

30

THE IMPERIAL HOTEL, VIENNA

O
’Connor returned to the Imperial Hotel for dinner and then retired to his room. He recovered his laptop from the wardrobe safe, dialled in a series of codes to connect with the vast database held in the CIA’s Cray supercomputers at Langley and waited while his request for access went through a series of encryptions and decryptions.

With access approved, O’Connor fed in the photographs he’d taken earlier in the day. Within seconds, a profile page for Antonio Sodano appeared, together with surveillance photographs provided by the
Guardia di Finanza
, the Italian financial and customs police:

Antonio Sodano – executive summary.
Born Corleone, Sicily, 14 August 1987. Rising member of the Cosa Nostra and suspected hitman, although young and inexperienced. Arrested in 2006 for the murder of a member of a prominent mafia family in Palermo in a dispute over protection money for quarries. Trial aborted for lack of evidence with a strong omerta surrounding the case.

Moved to Rome 2007. Has connections with a black Masonic Lodge, Propaganda Tre, an offshoot of the infamous Propaganda Due or P2 Lodge, suspected of involvement in the Red Brigades’ assassination of Italian prime minister Aldo Moro. Sodano has links to the Vatican Bank (see attached photo). Now under investigation and surveillance by the Italian
Guardia di Finanza
for suspected drug-trafficking.

O’Connor scanned the rest of the report, but stopped when he came to the surveillance photographs. Sodano had been snapped at a dockside in Naples, at Rome’s international airport, and at La Pergola, one of Rome’s finest restaurants, where he had been photographed at dinner with another man. The photo was grainy and O’Connor couldn’t quite place him, but he looked vaguely familiar. O’Connor knew the restaurant well. Located on Via Cadlolo 101 in the Cavalieri Hilton, with panoramic views of the city from Rome’s highest hill, La Pergola’s cellar held 48 000 bottles. O’Connor had dined there with Kate Braithwaite.

O’Connor felt the old anger and hurt return, and he fought to control his deepest emotions.
Kate
. He pictured her in her level four spacesuit, calmly working with some of the deadliest pathogens known to humankind. She had been a brilliant microbiologist. They had worked together on an assignment in Beijing involving the biggest biological threat the world had ever faced. Their love-life had been a sensation between the sheets; but just when O’Connor was accepting there was someone very special in his life, Kate had been brutally taken from him – a needle stick in a lethal hot-zone laboratory at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. From the moment the Ebola virus had entered Kate’s bloodstream, her fate had been sealed. Her agonising death was seared into his memory.

The coroner returned a finding of ‘accidental fatality’, but O’Connor hadn’t believed a word of it. He and Kate had made some powerful enemies in Washington and at Langley, and the needle had punctured the
back
of her arm. He had considered resigning, but decided against it, knowing he would have a better chance from within the Agency of discovering how Kate had met her fate. He still harboured a hope that the CIA might change course – back to the old agency that had once been run by honourable professionals.

O’Connor took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to put Kate at the back of his mind, concentrating on the image on his laptop. Suddenly he remembered where he’d seen the other man in the photo. The suit had distracted him, for the man dining with Sodano was none other than the man who’d been photographed with Wiley and Pope John Paul II: Archbishop Salvatore Felici.

Never
put anything on paper you can’t afford to have someone read, and
never
be photographed, period, O’Connor thought. With a sense of rising anticipation he Googled the Vatican’s official website. He’d never known Wiley to cultivate people who were not either powerful or in a position to provide information. The photograph on Wiley’s desk had been taken nearly twenty years ago; there was every chance Salvatore Felici was now a cardinal.

Paydirt.
O’Connor found his man on the biographical page of cardinals the Vatican thoughtfully provided for the faithful and the curious. According to his biography, Salvatore Felici had been the Pope’s ambassador to Guatemala in the early ’90s. Not only was Felici now a cardinal, but he was listed in the section for cardinal bishops, the highest of the Vatican’s three cardinal rankings. O’Connor matched the unsmiling official portrait with the photo from the
Guardia di Finanza
’s surveillance. What would a nice boy like the Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith be doing dining with a young thug like Sodano? What was the relationship now between Wiley and Felici?