The picture changes, revealing an image of a swirling, emerald green vortex. All personnel within the command center stop and stare as the three dark objects rise out from the whirlpool’s funnel.

“Good God,” Mailer whispers in amazement. “It’s true.”

Borgia shouts out from his communication’s station. “Sir, VC-8, 9, and 10. I’ve got Grozny and General Xiliang, and the UN Secretary-General!”

President Mailer looks at his secretary of defense. “They’ll never believe it. Christ, I don’t believe it.”

“Then make them believe it. Two billion people are going to die in less than seventeen minutes, and you and those two bastards are the only people on earth who can stop it.”

Beneath the Kukulcan Pyramid,
Chichén Itza

Mick examines the sides of the massive granite tub, dark now, save for a single row of scarlet dots and dashes.

“What are they?” Dominique asks.

“Numbers. Mayan numbers, from zero to ten.”

“Maybe it’s a combination lock of some sort. Are there any numerical codes carved into the ruins?”

Mick’s eyes light up. “Better still, there’s a numerical code built into the design of the Great Pyramid, Angkor Wat, and the city of Teotihuacan. The precession code—4320.”

Mick touches the four-dotted symbol.

The Mayan number four changes from incandescent red to a deep electric blue.

In succession, he touches the Mayan numbers three and two, then the eye-shaped symbol equating to zero. Each icon changes to a radiant, luminescent blue.

And then the interior of the tub ignites in a brilliant azure blue glow, and an object appears, situated within the confines of the tub.

The light darkens, allowing them to peer inside the open container.

Dominique stifles a scream.

Staring back up at them, covered in a tattered white tunic, is an enormous humanoid, an old man possessing the facial features of a centenarian. The exposed flesh is ghostly white, the long white hair and beard as fine as silk. The head, perfectly preserved, is elongated, the body nearly seven feet long. The open eyes, transfixed in death, radiate an unworldly ocean blue gaze.

Before their eyes, the humanoid begins disintegrating. The pale skin singes brown, then gray, then decays to a fine, powdery dust. Dehydrated vital organs collapse inward beneath a powerful skeletal frame. The exposed bones char black, then decompose, the entire skeleton vaporizing into a shadow of ash.

Mick stares at the ash-covered white cloth, all that remains within the granite tub.

“God-damn, that was freaky,” Dominique whispers. “Was that One Hunahpu?”

“No, I-I think that was Kukulcan, I mean Guardian.” Mick leans forward, examining the interior of the open granite box.

“His skull—it was huge.”

“Elongated.” Mick climbs inside the tub.

“Mick, are you crazy? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay. What if that glow reappears?”

“I expect it to.”