‘Yeah. Kirk, I need a favor. I need to get away for a few days. I’ll trade you my car for your Amphibian.’

‘Your ’Vette? You on meds?’

‘It’s just for a few days. I promise I’ll take good care of it.’

‘Sink it for all I care. Belongs to my old man. Fubitchshittingasswipe.’

‘What’s your access code?’

‘Access code … damn … oh yeah.’ He holds up his bare foot. Tattooed to his heel is KP-3757-D.

Lauren memorizes the code. ‘Thanks, Kirk, I owe you. When do they let you out?’

‘Shifubitchin’ know-it-all tin can mechanical doctor ordered another blood scrub. I told that trash can she can suck my plasma only if she replaces it with BLISS. Ha-ha … hey, ’renman, where you going?’

Hangar 13, Kennedy Space Center,
Cape Canaveral, Florida
Thursday Afternoon

Immanuel Gabriel loses his thoughts in the psychiatrist’s eyes, watching them shift from hazel to green in the overhead lights. The man’s hair is brown and spiked, the cleft lip and telltale scars along the jaw line revealing recent reconstructive surgery.

‘You sure don’t look like a psychiatrist.’

Mike Snyder smiles. ‘And what should a psychiatrist look like?’

‘I don’t know … more scholarly, I suppose. What happened to your face?’

‘Battle scars. I double as one of your brother’s sparring partners. At least I used to. He’s way beyond us mere mortal foes these days.’

Immanuel sits up in the lounge chair, his head still woozy from the sedative. ‘So you’re Jake’s psychiatrist? Bet he plays head games with you.’

‘Only all the time. On occasion he might let something slip, but usually he only confides in Dr. Mohr or Grand Master Xiong. Jacob’s very sure of himself. Even as a fourteen-year-old, he always came across as if he knew exactly who he was and what he needed out of life. And he’s not one to lose his cool.’

‘Unlike me.’

Dr. Snyder grins. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. If someone told me I was getting on that spaceship bound for God-knows-where, I’d have popped a few too many meds, too. What you can’t do is allow yourself to be drawn into your brother’s psychosis.’

‘Psychosis?’ Immanuel perks up. ‘Then you don’t believe this whole Mayan Hero thing?’

‘Do I believe you and Jake are unique individuals—absolutely. Do I believe the two of you were somehow the subject of a Mesoamerican tale written five hundred years ago? No.’

‘But Jake believes it.’

‘Jake’s mind absorbs everything like a sponge. Unfortunately, this Mayan mythology thing has been ingrained into his psyche since birth. It’s become part of his dementia and his persona, and it’s now impossible to separate the two.’

‘But … I heard my father’s voice.’

‘Think about it, Manny. Where were you at the time?’