The Maya Codex (47 page)

O’Connor relocked the trunk and turned his attention to the manhole cover in the ceiling. He dragged across the only chair in the room, hoisted himself into the ceiling and played the torchlight over the piles of rat droppings scattered amongst the old beams. The light picked out three small dusty trunks at the far end of the confined roof space, and O’Connor eased himself along the central joist. The dust was an indicator that the trunks almost certainly did not to belong to Jennings. Again, he picked the locks and opened the first trunk. Diaries. Dozens of them. O’Connor thumbed through the uppermost one and found the last entry had been made twelve months before von Heißen had fled. Was there one diary missing? O’Connor wondered as he opened the second, and then the third trunk, which contained the diaries covering von Heißen’s time at Mauthausen. They were in chronological order, and, curious, O’Connor located the diary for 1938. Five minutes later he let out a soft whistle as he found von Heißen’s meticulous entry for Heinrich Himmler’s visit to Mauthausen.

Reichsführer Himmler sehr zufrieden mit Geburtstag … Reichsführer Himmler very pleased with celebrations for the Führer’s birthday. Forty-eight Jewish scum executed – one for each year of the Führer’s glorious life.

Himmler personally congratulated me on the smooth functioning of Konzentrationslager Mauthausen, giving strong intimation that promotion to Standartenführer is being considered!

Herr Doktor Richtoff’s preparation for high-altitude medical experiments well in hand.

Himmler agreed to execution of Weizman scum. Weizman dealt with on the stairs. His bitch and brats will be Herr Doktor Richtoff’s first ‘patients’.

If Mossad had been hard on von Heißen’s heels, how could they have missed these? There was only one explanation that made any sense to O’Connor. Mossad were so close, they would have kept pursuing him. O’Connor kept the diary with the incriminating evidence of the shootings and dropped back into Jennings’ bedroom, where he searched the bedside table. In the drawer he found the last of von Heißen’s diaries, and nestled inside the front cover, he discovered the original
huun
map containing the backbearings from the volcanoes – the same one confiscated from Ariel Weizman more than seventy years ago.

Paydirt! But as O’Connor began to thumb through the pages, he heard the sound of a key turning in the front door.

Aleta was sweating profusely; twitching nervously on the pillows. The shaman knew it was time to bring her out.

‘You’re coming out of this room now, Aleta,’ he intoned gently. ‘You’re moving back towards the door through which you entered … moving back to the stone passageway … closing the door behind you. You’re calmer now … calmer.’ Aleta stopped twitching and almost immediately her breathing began to slow.

‘One … two … three,’ José intoned softly.

‘Was I dreaming?’ Aleta asked.

José smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s quite a common reaction; but no, you weren’t dreaming. That was just one of your past lives, although undoubtedly one of the more significant, and there are several reasons you’ve relived it just now.’ Arana paused, allowing Aleta to readjust to her surroundings. A cool breeze was coming in off the lake and the night was clear. Without the glow of city lights, the stars seemed far brighter and more numerous – just as they had to the Maya, centuries before.

‘Did you learn anything?’ Arana continued.

‘The laser beams … the three statues were placed on top of Pyramid I, Pyramid IV and Pyramid V … but I didn’t see where the final deflection fell.’

‘Now that you know which pyramids are in the matrix, it will be enough for you to discover the final figurine; and provided you can position all three by the winter solstice, you will still have a chance to recover the codex.’

‘With only three days left, that’s looking increasingly unlikely,’ Aleta said.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘It’s as if a great load has been lifted.’

The Mayan elder smiled. ‘Then the cleansing has been a success.’

‘I’m not sure what the golden conch shell with the keyhole outline in the middle meant, though.’ Aleta mused.

‘The significance of that, like the significance of balance, will become apparent very soon,’ José replied enigmatically.

Monsignor Jennings quickly checked behind him before ushering the young boy inside.

Have a seat, Eduardo. Make yourself comfortable,’ Jennings said, indicating the sofa against the staircase. He headed for the tiny kitchenette and poured himself a generous Chivas Regal, and a double shot of Johnny Walker Red Label and Coke for Eduardo. Jennings brought the Coke back and sat down beside Eduardo, recalling the wonderful words of Oscar Wilde:
The great affection of an elder for a younger man… that is as pure as it is perfect … so much misunderstood that it may be described as the ‘Love that dare not speak its name’. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an elder and a younger man, when the elder man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it
. Jennings knew the words by heart. He sat and admired Eduardo’s slim, taut brown form and placed his hand on Eduardo’s thigh.

‘Cien quetzales,’
Eduardo intoned woodenly.

‘Más tarde.
Later,’ Jennings said, placing Eduardo’s hand on his own growing erection.

Eduardo withdrew his hand.
‘Cien quetzales … o no contrato.’
Eduardo might have been only fourteen, but he was already street smart.

‘
¿Cuánto para toda la noche
. How much for all night?’ Jennings asked throatily, feeling for his wallet.

‘Quinientos quetzales.’
This amount would feed Eduardo’s brothers and sisters for a fortnight.

‘
Cien quetzales
. The rest later,’ Jennings said, handing over a grimy cherry-coloured note. Rivulets of sweat ran down his pudgy cheeks and he shifted lengthways on the couch. Breathing heavily, Jennings unzipped his own fly and ran his hand up the inside of Eduardo’s thigh, fondling the boy into an erection before pulling Eduardo’s head down onto his own enlarged member.

O’Connor quietly photographed the pair from the mezzanine bedroom above. He wondered if, even when faced with the photographs, the Catholic Church would act, but he promised himself the fat priest would rot in gaol one way or another. For now, time was running out. Confident that Jennings was totally absorbed, O’Connor crept down the stairs.

‘Suck me, boy … suck me,’ Jennings wheezed. ‘Oh yes. That is
so
good.’

O’Connor controlled his anger and quietly slipped out the front door. He headed back down towards the docks, where Fidel was waiting, two of von Heißen’s diaries and the map safely in his hand.

‘Santa Cruz.
La tienda de buceo, por favor, Fidel
.’ The dive shop would be closed, but O’Connor was sure money would overcome that inconvenience.

‘
Sí
,’ Fidel nodded with a smile and eased the little launch away from the wooden jetty.

A short distance away one of the ex-navy SEALs was standing on the balcony of the Mikaso, scanning the shores of the lake. Hank Sanders trained his high-resolution night-vision binoculars on the little boat as it gathered speed, and he watched it head for the village of Santa Cruz on the northern side of the lake.

‘Hey, Mitch, come and have a look at this. See the guy sitting in the back of the boat? Looks like our man?’ he said, handing over the binoculars.

‘Hard to say,’ Mitch Crawford said, ‘but if it is, I wonder where he’s headed at this time of night.’

Twenty minutes later, they had their answer. Sanders and Crawford watched the launch pull into Santa Cruz’s jetty, the nearby dive shop clearly visible.

Crawford kept his night-vision binoculars trained on Fidel’s small
lancha
as the boatman eased it into the jetty at San Marcos. He watched as Fidel and O’Connor carried the diving gear up to where Aleta was still in deep conversation with José.

‘Looks as if the boatman’s staying the night as well. It’s dive on, I reckon.’

‘Probably not tonight,’ Crawford replied, sharpening his diving knife, ‘otherwise they would have left the gear on the jetty. My guess is early tomorrow morning. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The gear and the boat’s ready.’ The burly tattooed ex-Marine diver spat over the balcony. ‘They won’t know what’s hit ’em.’

O’Connor sat on the end of Aleta’s garden lounge. ‘Your grandfather’s original
huun
bark map,’ he announced quietly. ‘I found it in a diary at Jennings’ presbytery, along with some scuba-diving gear, so I’m assuming that von Heißen left it behind.’

‘He must have left in one hell of a hurry,’ said Aleta.

‘Mossad tends to have that effect on some people.’

‘Do you think they got him?’

O’Connor shook his head. ‘Adolf Eichmann worked for Mercedes Benz in Buenos Aires for years, but when the Israeli team of Mossad and Shabak agents finally captured him in 1960, it made world headlines. Von Heißen is now the most wanted Nazi known to be still alive – we would have heard if they’d been successful. There are three trunks of diaries still in the roof of Jennings’ presbytery, but we’ll go back for those.’ O’Connor opened the
huun
bark map. ‘Look at this.’

‘The backbearings!’ Aleta whispered.

‘Exactly, and they intersect just off that point.’ O’Connor indicated a small rocky promontory jutting out into the lake about a kilometre away. ‘Someone, I presume your grandfather, has embossed the bottom of the map with the Greek letter phi, and there’s a mark under the dot point, see? A short line.’

‘Von Heißen may already have the figurine … assuming it was in the lake in the first place.’

‘The scuba gear suggests he investigated the lake, although whether he was aware of the third figurine is a moot point. But there’s only one way to find out.’