She enters a restricted area, pushing her way past an MP. As he grabs her from behind, she slams the startled guard backwards into the far wall with a vicious backthrust kick. Another guard intercepts her as she attempts to enter the Combat Information Center. “Let me go—I need to see Chaney!”

“You can’t enter—the CIC is a restricted area.”

“I need to find Mick—ow, you’re breaking my arm!”

The watertight door opens, two officers exiting. She sees the president.

“President Chaney!”

Chaney looks up from the row of UAV monitors. “It’s all right. Let her in.”

Dominique turns to face the MP, then slams the heel of both palms hard into his chest. “Don’t ever touch me again.” She enters the darkened nerve center, now packed with heads of state.

“Dominique—”

“Where is he? You know where he is, now tell me! Where have you taken him?”

Chaney pulls her aside. “Gabriel left by chopper early this morning. He came to me. It was his request.”

“Where did he go?”

“He gave me a letter to give to you.” Chaney fishes the folded envelope from his breast pocket. Dominique tears it opens.

My dearest Dom:

There is so much I wish I could tell you, so much I want to explain, but can’t. There are voices in my head, pulling me in different directions. I don’t know if the voices are real, or if my mind has finally snapped.

Guardian’s voice tells me that I am a Hunahpu. He says it was my genetic code that allowed us access to the starship. Perhaps it is these genetics that enable me to communicate with the entity beneath the Gulf.

One of the entity’s drones landed dead center of the Great Mayan Ball Court in Chichén Itza. My father believed a strong relationship exists between the Great Ball Court and the dark rift of the Milky Way. Like the Kukulcan pyramid, this field has also been oriented to the night sky. By midnight tonight, the dark rift will have moved into alignment directly over the center point of this field. The nexus will be open. It’s opening even now, I can feel it.

It was a Mayan tradition to bury a stone marker at the center point of each ball court. My father was present when archaeologists removed the center stone from Chichén Itza’s field. Before he died, Julius told me that he had stolen the real marker years ago, then reburied it. He kept this a secret from me until his last dying breath. Somehow, he knew I’d need the stone.