I’m not asking you to seek such outlandish remedies, just to open your mind. What you don’t know can affect you, what you refuse to see can kill you. There are mysteries that surround us whose origins we cannot fathom—yet must! The pyramids of Giza and Teotihuacan, the Temples of Angkor in Cambodia, Stonehenge, the incredible message inscribed upon the Nazca desert, and most of all, the Kukulcan pyramid in Chichén Itza. All these ancient sites, all these magnificent, unexplainable wonders were not intended as tourist attractions but are pieces to a single perplexing jigsaw puzzle that can prevent the annihilation of our species.

My journey through life is nearly over. I have these memoirs, highlights of the overwhelming evidence I’ve accumulated over three decades, to my son, Michael, and to all those who would carry on my work ad finem—to the end. While presenting the clues in the manner in which I stumbled across them, I will also endeavor to paint for you an historical accounting of the events along the time line in which they actually occurred throughout man s history.

For the record, I take no satisfaction in being right. For the record, I pray to God that I’m wrong.

I’m not wrong …

—Excerpt from the Journal of Professor Julius Gabriel,

Ref. J G Catalogue 1969-70 pages 12-28.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

SEPTEMBER 11, 2012
MIAMI, FLORIDA

Michael Gabriel is dreaming. Once more, he is lying on the backstage floor of an auditorium, his father’s head resting against his chest as they await the ambulance. Julius beckons his son’s ear so that he might whisper a secret he has kept to himself since his wife’s death eleven years earlier.

“Michael … the center stone.”

“Don’t try to talk, Pop. The ambulance is on the way.”

“Listen to me, Michael! The center stone, the ball court marker—I replaced it.”

“I don’t understand. What stone?”

“Chichén Itza.”

The weathered eyes glaze over, the weight of his father’s body slumping against his chest.

“Pop … POP!”

Mick awakens, his body bathed in sweat.

8:45 A.M.

Dominique gives the receptionist a half wave, then proceeds directly to the main security station. A heavily muscled security guard smiles as she approaches, the man’s strawberry blond mustache lifting and spreading across his upper lip, revealing yellowed teeth.

“Well, good morning, Sunshine. I’m Raymond, and I bet you’re our new intern.”

“Dominique Vazquez.” She shakes his callused hand, noticing beads of perspiration across the thick, freckled forearm.

“Sorry, just came from the gym.” Raymond wipes his arms down with a hand towel, over exaggerating the movement to flex his pump. “I’m competing in the Mr.Florida Regional in November. Think I’ve got a chance?”

“Uh, sure.” God, please don’t let him start posing …

“Maybe you could come down and watch me compete, you know, root me on?” The pale hazel eyes widen behind short amber eyelashes.