Mounted high along the faces of the eastern and western walls are donut-shaped stone rings, positioned vertically like sideways basketball hoops. Invented by the Olmec, the ceremonial ritual known as the Ball Game was meant to symbolize the epic battle between light and dark, good and evil. Two teams of seven warriors competed against each other, attempting to shoot a rubber ball through their vertical hoop, using only their elbows, hips, or knees. The rewards of the game were simple, the motivation pure: The winners were rewarded, the losers beheaded.

Michael Gabriel is at the center of the 313-foot grass court, standing in the drone’s shadow, directing a three-man team of US Army Rangers. With picks and shovels, the men dig in an eight-foot-deep hole, burrowing their way through the brittle geology to a point just beneath the alien object’s talons.

The strength of the drone’s force field is causing Mick’s hair to stand on end.

He looks up as a Jeep enters the south end of the ball court. Colonel E. J. Catchpole jumps out of the vehicle before it comes to a halt. “We just got word, Gabriel. The alien mass surfaced, just as you predicted.”

“Was the Navy able to destroy it?”

“Negative. The vessel’s protected within the same force field as these damn drones. There’s more. An alien emerged—”

“An alien? What did it look like?” Mick’s heart is pounding like a bass drum.

“Don’t know. The pyramid’s array is causing communication problems. The only thing I could make out is that it’s huge, and the Navy thinks it’s headed in our direction.” The colonel kneels by the hole. “Lieutenant, I want you and your men out of this hole.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Colonel, you’re not giving up—”

“Sorry, Gabriel, but I need every man available to guard that array. What is it you’re looking for anyway?”

“I told you, it’s some kind of stone, a round marker, about the size of a football. It’s probably buried directly beneath the drone’s talons.”

The lieutenant climbs out from the hole, followed by two more Ranger commandos, each man covered in a white, powdery dust.

The lieutenant drinks from his canteen, then spits out the last mouthful. “Here’s the deal, Gabriel. We located the edge of some sort of metallic canister, but if my men try to remove it, the weight of this drone will collapse the tunnel. We left a flashlight and pick down there if you want to try, but I’d advise against it.”

The commandos climb into the Jeep.

“I suggest you hightail it out of here before the fireworks begin,” the colonel yells, as the vehicle accelerates to the west.

Mick watches the Jeep leave, then descends down the rope ladder into the hole.