Chapters (50)
- A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments:
- Table of Contents
- Epigraph
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- PROLOGUE
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 3
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 4
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 18
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 19
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- EPILOGUE
- Coming soon
- Permissions and Credits
- About the Author
Justify his schizophrenia. Blame the parents. “Mick, it seems to me that, aside from one isolated incident of violence, your continued incarceration has more to do with your fanatical belief in the apocalypse, a belief shared by tens of millions of people. When you say humanity’s coming to an end, what I’m hearing is a belief system that was probably spoon-fed to you from birth. Isn’t it possible that your parents—”
“My parents were not religious fanatics or millennialists. They didn’t spend their time constructing subterranean bunkers. They didn’t arm themselves with assault weapons and food supplies in preparation for Judgment Day. They didn’t believe in the Second Coming of Jesus, or the Messiah, for that matter, and they didn’t accuse every autocratic world leader with a bad mustache of being the Antichrist. They were archaeologists, Dominique—scientists, who were intelligent enough not to ignore the signposts that point to a disaster that will wipe out our entire species. Call it Armageddon, call it the Apocalypse, the Mayan prophecy—whatever makes you happy—just get me the hell out of here so I can do something about it!”
“Mick, stay calm. I know you’re frustrated, and I’m trying to help you, more than you know. But, in order to gain your release, I have to appeal for another psychiatric evaluation.”
“How long will that take?”
“I don’t know.”
“Christ—” He paces faster.
“Let’s say you were released tomorrow. What would you do? Where would you go?”
“Chichén Itza. The only chance we have of saving ourselves is to find a way inside the Kukulcan pyramid.”
“What’s inside the pyramid?”
“I don’t know. No one knows. The entrance has never been found.”
“Then how—”
“Because I can sense something’s there. Don’t ask me how, I just do. It’s like when you walk down a street and can just sense someone’s following you.”
“These board members are going to want something more solid than a feeling.”
Mick stops pacing to give her an exasperated look. “This is why I asked you to read my father’s journal. There are two structures in Chichén Itza that are linked to our salvation. The first is the great ball court, which has been aligned precisely to mirror Xibalba Be, the dark rift of the Milky Way, as it will appear on 4 Ahau, 3 Kankin. The second is the Kukulcan pyramid, the keystone structure of the entire doomsday prophecy. Every equinox, a serpent’s shadow appears on the northern balustrade of the pyramid. My father believed the celestial effect was a warning left to us by Kukulcan, representing the ascent of evil upon mankind. The shadow lasts exactly three hours and twenty-two minutes—the same interval of time shared by the deep-space transmission.”
“Are you certain about this?” Make certain you verify these facts in your report.