‘All this Mayan Underworld crap, it all began with our grandfather and his stupid journal. He’s long gone, and so is Mick. Personally, I’ve accepted the fact that our whole family is nuts. Mick was a schizoid, Mom suffers from severe depression, I’m living under a false identity, and you—well, you’re the head squirrel. I love you, man, but I have to go. Have a good life.’

Jacob shakes his head in disbelief, then looks up at Dr. Mohr. ‘This is going all wrong. I need to show him.’

Mohr’s voice sounds metallic over the speaker. ‘Jake, we talked about this. Your brother doesn’t have clearance.’

‘He’s my brother. He has more right to see GOLDEN FLEECE than anyone on this base.’ Jacob jogs out of the arena into the corridor. ‘Manny, er, Sam, before you go, I want to show you one last thing.’

‘Give it up, Jake.’

‘It won’t take long, I promise. Humor me one last time.’

Jacob takes his arm, leading him down a long subterranean corridor. They stop at a steel door guarded by two heavily armed soldiers.

‘Morning, sir.’

‘I want to show my brother GOLDEN FLEECE.’

The guards look at Immanuel, then at each other, unsure. The guard on the left says, ‘Sir, your, uh, your brother doesn’t have clearance.’

‘Contact Dr. Mohr. He’ll approve it.’

‘Forget it, Jake,’ Manny says. ‘Whatever it is, I’ll see it another—’

‘Contact Mohr. Now, please.’

The guard activates his comm link. ‘Excuse me, Dr. Mohr, but Jacob insists we allow his brother inside to see GOLDEN FLEECE.’

‘Request denied. Escort Jacob and his guest to my office immediately.’

The guard looks at Jacob. ‘Sorry, kid.’

In a blur of movement, Jacob lashes out with two vicious karate chops, striking each guard along the carotid artery.

The unconscious men slump to the floor.

‘Damn, Jake, you trying to kill them?’

‘They’ll be fine. Come on.’ He presses his palm to an identification pad.

The heavy steel door swings open.

Jacob grabs his protesting twin by the arm, leading him inside.

‘Yo, man, that was not cool. This is NASA. I don’t need trouble with the PCAA.’

‘Thirty seconds.’ Jacob pulls him down a short recess leading into an immense facility. ‘Just take a quick peek at what’s inside, then I’ll leave you alone for another six years.’

‘That’s not what I’m … oh … oh … shit.’

They are standing at the entrance to a mammoth factory, twenty storeys high, as wide and as long as six football fields. But it is the object at the center of the facility that causes Immanuel Gabriel’s heart to race, his muscles to turn to jelly.

It is an enormous spacecraft, 722 feet long, its dagger-shaped, warship-sized hull composed of shimmering, mirrorlike gold panels. The monstrous keel is situated twenty feet off the ground, resting on a series of rubber-tipped concrete-and-steel racks.