sunny richness that flowed through him like melting butter.
Salida pressed some of the glyphs, trying to stop the frenzied activity—but instead he saw the tiny jewel-like components inside the glass case whir to life.
It seemed to him more amazing to know that this artifact had been constructed by the ancient Maya at the dawn of history. They had used gears and primitive machinery to develop their calendars ... but this device seemed amazingly sophisticated, even for modern construction, without any recognizable gears, levers, buttons At the core of the gadget, light began to grow, cold yet searingly bright...
as if a pool of mercury had flared into incandescence.
Salida stepped back, now frightened and anxious. What had Aguilar given him?
What had he done? How could he stop it?
Outside, the dogs and the peacocks set up such a racket, it sounded as if they were being flayed alive.
The light within the crystalline object became blind-ing, reaching an unimaginable peak. The last thing Salida could make out was his glass of wine rattling next to the artifact.
The dark red liquid rolled in a furious boil.
Then the light reached its critical point and leaped to another level. Its intensity increased a thousandfold. The heat and energy washed over Salida so rapidly he never had time to register the immense explosion ... or even a second of pain.
Cancun Friday, 8:05 a.m.
Gentle white clouds rode high against the sunshine, and the sea gleamed as turquoise as a Beverly Hills swimming pool. Tour groups flocked out of the hotels along the thin strip of land between the ocean and the lagoon, waiting in courtyards and traffic turnarounds to catch scheduled buses departing for the famous Maya ruins at Chichen Itza, Tulum, Xcaret, and Xel-Ha.
Marble fountains filled with Mexican coins sprayed next to the lobby courtyard of the Caribbean Shores Resort. A battered Jeep bearing three people approached, swerving around old taxicabs, vans, and the diesel-belching tour buses before it pulled up to the hotel entrance. The driver blared the horn, waved his hand, and honked again impatiently, offending the white-uniformed bellmen who stood in the open doorway. They scowled down at the Jeep, but the driver pulled closer to the curb, parked, and honked again, ignoring the stares from the staff.
Waiting just inside the lobby next to other tourists ready to go on day trips, Mulder grabbed his duffel and turned to Scully. "I'll bet that's our ride."
She set down her Styrofoam cup of coffee next to a sand-filled ashtray and picked up her own bag. "I was afraid of that."
Vladimir Rubicon followed with his backpack and his own duffel, flushed and eager. "I'm sure everyone else enjoys their vacation here in glitzy Canciin—but to me this just isn't, uh ... isn't the Yucatan. Might as well be Honolulu."
Inside the Jeep, Scully recognized Fernando Victorio Aguilar by his floppy ocelot-skin cap and his long dark ponytail. Aguilar waved at them, flashing white teeth in a grin. "Buenos dias, amigos!"
Mulder took Scully's bag and threw it with his own in the back, while Rubicon stuffed his personal equip-ment in the crowded compartment. Two dark-haired, brown-skinned young men rode in the vehicle with Aguilar, ready to help.
Rubicon took the strangers in stride and crowded into the back seat. Mulder slid in beside him.
Aguilar patted the passenger seat for Scully. "For you, Senorita—beside me, where it is safer, eh?" He turned around, looking at Mulder and Rubicon. "Are you ready to be off? You are properly dressed, ready for the jungles?"
Rubicon fingered his thin goatee. "They're prepared enough," he said.
Mulder leaned forward. "I even brought my hiking boots and bug repellent."
Scully looked over at her partner in the back seat. "Yes, the essentials."
The lanky "expediter" looked freshly shaved, his cheeks and chin glassy smooth. Scully could smell his aftershave. He rubbed his fingers along his face. "It will take many hours to
Salida pressed some of the glyphs, trying to stop the frenzied activity—but instead he saw the tiny jewel-like components inside the glass case whir to life.
It seemed to him more amazing to know that this artifact had been constructed by the ancient Maya at the dawn of history. They had used gears and primitive machinery to develop their calendars ... but this device seemed amazingly sophisticated, even for modern construction, without any recognizable gears, levers, buttons At the core of the gadget, light began to grow, cold yet searingly bright...
as if a pool of mercury had flared into incandescence.
Salida stepped back, now frightened and anxious. What had Aguilar given him?
What had he done? How could he stop it?
Outside, the dogs and the peacocks set up such a racket, it sounded as if they were being flayed alive.
The light within the crystalline object became blind-ing, reaching an unimaginable peak. The last thing Salida could make out was his glass of wine rattling next to the artifact.
The dark red liquid rolled in a furious boil.
Then the light reached its critical point and leaped to another level. Its intensity increased a thousandfold. The heat and energy washed over Salida so rapidly he never had time to register the immense explosion ... or even a second of pain.
Cancun Friday, 8:05 a.m.
Gentle white clouds rode high against the sunshine, and the sea gleamed as turquoise as a Beverly Hills swimming pool. Tour groups flocked out of the hotels along the thin strip of land between the ocean and the lagoon, waiting in courtyards and traffic turnarounds to catch scheduled buses departing for the famous Maya ruins at Chichen Itza, Tulum, Xcaret, and Xel-Ha.
Marble fountains filled with Mexican coins sprayed next to the lobby courtyard of the Caribbean Shores Resort. A battered Jeep bearing three people approached, swerving around old taxicabs, vans, and the diesel-belching tour buses before it pulled up to the hotel entrance. The driver blared the horn, waved his hand, and honked again impatiently, offending the white-uniformed bellmen who stood in the open doorway. They scowled down at the Jeep, but the driver pulled closer to the curb, parked, and honked again, ignoring the stares from the staff.
Waiting just inside the lobby next to other tourists ready to go on day trips, Mulder grabbed his duffel and turned to Scully. "I'll bet that's our ride."
She set down her Styrofoam cup of coffee next to a sand-filled ashtray and picked up her own bag. "I was afraid of that."
Vladimir Rubicon followed with his backpack and his own duffel, flushed and eager. "I'm sure everyone else enjoys their vacation here in glitzy Canciin—but to me this just isn't, uh ... isn't the Yucatan. Might as well be Honolulu."
Inside the Jeep, Scully recognized Fernando Victorio Aguilar by his floppy ocelot-skin cap and his long dark ponytail. Aguilar waved at them, flashing white teeth in a grin. "Buenos dias, amigos!"
Mulder took Scully's bag and threw it with his own in the back, while Rubicon stuffed his personal equip-ment in the crowded compartment. Two dark-haired, brown-skinned young men rode in the vehicle with Aguilar, ready to help.
Rubicon took the strangers in stride and crowded into the back seat. Mulder slid in beside him.
Aguilar patted the passenger seat for Scully. "For you, Senorita—beside me, where it is safer, eh?" He turned around, looking at Mulder and Rubicon. "Are you ready to be off? You are properly dressed, ready for the jungles?"
Rubicon fingered his thin goatee. "They're prepared enough," he said.
Mulder leaned forward. "I even brought my hiking boots and bug repellent."
Scully looked over at her partner in the back seat. "Yes, the essentials."
The lanky "expediter" looked freshly shaved, his cheeks and chin glassy smooth. Scully could smell his aftershave. He rubbed his fingers along his face. "It will take many hours to
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