Domain by Steve Alten Page B

here. I’ll be stuck in traffic for hours .
    The San Francisco native aims the camera back toward the northern balustrade, zooming in on the shadow of the serpent’s tail as it continues its 202-minute journey up the limestone facing of the twelve-hundred-year-old pyramid.
    The pungent scent of human sweat hangs heavy in the humid afternoon air. Nakamura records a Canadian couple arguing with two park officials, then shuts the camcorder off as a German tourist and his family jostle their way past him.
    Glancing at his watch, Nakamura decides it best to take some footage of the sacred cenote before he loses the light. After stepping over a myriad of picnickers, he makes his way north down the ancient sacbe , an elevated dirt path lying in close proximity to the northern face of the Kukulcan. The sacbe is the only means of cutting through the dense jungle to reach the second-most-sacred site in Chichén Itza—a freshwater sinkhole known as the cenote, or Mayan well of sacrifice.
    A five-minute walk brings him to the mouth of the 190-foot-wide pit, a spot where thousands of maidens were once sacrificed to death. He looks down. Sixty feet below, the dark, algae-infested waters reek of stagnation.
    The distant sound of thunder draws his attention skyward.
    That’s weird—not a cloud in the sky. Maybe it was a jet ?
    The sound grows louder. Several hundred tourists look at each other, uneasy. A woman screams.
    Nakamura feels his body trembling. He looks down into the pit. Rings are spreading out across the once-tranquil surface.
    Son of a bitch, it’s an earthquake !
    Grinning with excitement, Nakamura aims his camcorder down the mouth of the cenote. After surviving the big quake of 2005, it will take a lot more than a few tremors to upset this San Francisco native’s psyche.
    The crowd moves back as the tremor increases. Many rush back down the sacbe toward the park exit. Others scream as the ground beneath their feet bounces like a trampoline.
    Nakamura stops smiling. What the hell ?
    The water within the pit is swirling like an eddy.
    And then, as abruptly as they had started, the tremors cease.
     
    Hollywood Beach, Florida.
    The synagogue is filled beyond capacity on this Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar.
    Dominique is seated between her adopted parents, Edie and Iz Axler. Rabbi Steinberg is standing at his pulpit, listening to the angelic voice of his cantor as she sings a haunting prayer to his congregation.
    Dominique is hungry, having fasted nearly twenty-four hours since the Day of Atonement began. She is also premenstrual. Perhaps that is why she seems so emotional, unable to focus. Perhaps that is why her thoughts keep drifting back to Michael Gabriel.
    The rabbi begins reading again:
    “On Rosh Hashanah, we reflect. On Yom Kippur we consider. Who shall live for the sake of others? Who, dying, shall leave a heritage of life? Who shall burn with the fires of greed? Who shall drown in the waters of despair? Whose hunger shall be for the good? Who shall thirst for justice and right? Who shall be plagued by fear of the world? Who shall strangle for lack of friends? Who shall rest at the end of the day? Who lie sleepless on a bed of pain?”
    Her emotions stir as she imagines Mick lying in his cell. Stop it …
    “Whose tongue shall be a thrusting sword? Whose words shall make for peace? Who shall go forth in the quest for truth? Who shall be locked in a prison of self?”
    In her mind’s eye, she can see Mick pacing the yard as the equinox sun begins to set behind the concrete wall.
    “…the angels, gripped by fear and trembling, declare in awe: This is the Day of Judgment! For even the hosts of heaven are judged, as all who dwell on earth stand arrayed before You.”
    The emotional dam bursts, the hot tears streaking eyeliner down her face. Confused, she squeezes past Iz and hurries up the aisle and out of the temple.
     

 
     
    Chapter 6

     
    SEPTEMBER 25, 2012
WASHINGTON, DC.
    E nnis