‘Observing the training session. He asked you to meet him in the mezzanine.’

Sam follows his mother to an awaiting turbolift, the Asian girl never taking her eyes off him. He waits until the elevator door seals. ‘Okay, what was that all about?’

Before Dominique can respond, the lift door reopens.

They step out onto a dark mezzanine. Ahead is a floor-to-ceiling glass barrier overlooking an enormous indoor arena, its interior bathed in violet light. Situated on their side of the glass wall are twelve control stations. A dozen technicians, both males and females, are seated behind wraparound head-to-toe plasma monitors. Each wears a silver-colored body leotard lined with sensory links wired to their controls. Atop the technicians’ heads—sensory visors, obscuring their faces.

Appearing from behind the monitors is a slight Caucasian man in a white lab coat. He approaches, pausing so that the beam from an overhead light reveals his face.

‘Hello, hello.’ The scientist kisses Dominique on the cheek, then turns to her son. ‘Oh, my, thank you so much for coming. I’ve waited so long to meet you.’

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Mohr, David Mohr. Please call me Dave. I’m in charge of this monstrosity.’

The scientist is six inches shorter than Manny, with chocolate brown hair graying slightly around the temples. His complexion is pale, the deep-set eyes brown and twinkling, absorbing everything they see.

Immanuel eyes the offered hand before shaking it. ‘Samuel Agler.’

Mohr flashes a grin. ‘Samuel Agler, oh, I love it. Come with me, Samuel Agler, there’s something I want you to see. Dominique?’

‘Go, you know I can’t stand to watch.’

‘Understood.’ Mohr leads Manny toward the glass barrier. ‘You know, Sam, your mother has told me so much about you. Ever been to the Cape?’

‘Once, when I was in high school. Wait a second, you’re not the weather-net Dr. Mohr, are you? The Nobel prize guy?’

‘That’s me. These days, I’m working on things infinitely more interesting. Let me show you.’ He points to the vast arena, its specifics still hidden in darkness.

‘What is this—a holographic suite?’

‘As a matter of fact it is. We use it as a training facility. It allows us to monitor all levels of combat.’

‘Combat?’

Mohr flashes a boyish grin. ‘You’re just in time for the morning session.’ The scientist turns to his two assistants. ‘We’re ready, ladies. Begin sequence one.’

Yellow ceiling lights illuminate the interior, revealing a replica of an ancient Mesoamerican ball court. The playing field is about 150 yards long, slightly narrower at its width, its rectangle of grass imprisoned within four walls constructed of limestone blocks. The longer eastern and western boundaries are bordered by stone embankments rising fifteen feet, each slanted wall adorned with ancient ball game reliefs. Situated atop the eastern embankment, directly across from the glass partition and control room, is a replica of Chichén Itzá’s twenty-six-foot-high Temple of the Jaguar.