CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE JAGUAR TEMPLE CALAKMUL BIOSPHERE RESERVE

JAGUAR TEMPLE

CALAKMUL BIOSPHERE RESERVE

January 10

Roth gazed up at the massive Jaguar Temple glowing with the illumination of the kem ?m. Two warriors gripped him by the arms, which were still sore from the beating Jacob had given him. The temple was larger than the famous Chichén Itzá, a hundred and fifty feet to the other pyramid’s hundred, and more complex in design and structure than the tourist trap.

Turning his head to the left, he saw Brower also being held by two warriors. There were five stelae at the base of the temple, each one carved with images of Maya kings, the grooves and glyphs radiating the now familiar magic as well, and servants carried torches with globes of it, to further light the scene. A crowd was gathered beneath, the nobles of the new kingdom about to be born, come to witness the event, their faces highlighted by the glowing stelae and glyphs in the vicinity. Roth scanned the faces, recognizing some from his time in the arena. They wore feathered headdresses and had runes painted on their arms and legs. Gold and jade and obsidian jewelry decorated their bodies as well. It looked like a glimpse into history.

There were several sets of stairs built into the front of the massive temple, and the base had stairs leading to a lower level as wide as the entire front. In the center of the temple, there was a main center aisle of steps going steeply to the top, with a single stela glowing from the center. At the top of the plateau, Roth saw three shining structures. He couldn’t tell what they were, but they were rectangular, unlike the obelisks of the stelae below.

A horn blared from somewhere above, and the crowd fell silent. It was the same sound that had initiated the death game. Roth’s stomach clenched with dread. The other leaders had been brought out, along with their warrior escorts, but the two Americans were going up first because they would be the first sacrifices. Roth saw a look of sheer terror in the German chancellor’s eyes as he glanced back.

Once the fatal tone from the horn subsided, the warriors gripped Roth’s arms and led him to the lower stairs. He’d recovered slightly from the beating and moved on his own power. The steps were narrow, and he’d learned in his studies that they were best traversed by angling the body perpendicular to the steps. Those who climbed the temple in an attitude of humility, not facing it directly, found it easier to make the climb. Roth watched as the warriors did this and then mimicked their footwork. Brower did the same, and they climbed up to the plateau that was level with the height of the stelae planted in front. The enormity of the edifice just stunned his mind. He’d visited medieval castles before, but this was so much bigger, more like the pyramids of Giza.

Another short set of stairs flanked each side of that level, and they were brought up to the next one, which was where the main stairs were located. Roth craned his neck. He couldn’t see the three structures on top of the pyramid anymore—the angle of the ascent was too steep.

“They’re making us climb to our deaths?” Brower said.

“It’s part of the ritual,” Roth explained.

“What if we refuse?”

“Do you think it would be fun to get dragged up there?”

Brower sighed. “Probably not.”

Helicopters thundered over the jungle canopy, but Roth couldn’t see them. The sound reminded him of being chased on Cozumel, but he didn’t think these were Calakmul’s aircraft. Still, they wouldn’t help them. They were too late, and the kem ?m would prevent anyone from getting in.

The warriors barked a command in Mayan, and although Roth didn’t understand it, the implication was clear. Time to keep climbing. They walked to the wide center staircase and then started up the steep incline. After about a dozen steps, they reached a landing where the single stela was erected. It was in the exact middle and highlighted the staircase going up. The platform was about twenty feet in diameter and maybe five feet wide. Roth turned his neck and looked down at the crowd that had gathered closer to the base of the pyramid. They wanted to watch the human sacrifices, no doubt. Roth clenched his teeth and felt the warriors tug on his arms.

The center stairs were the tallest and the most narrow. Roth’s pulse was racing from the effort of climbing them, but he’d always liked hiking, and under less life-threatening circumstances, it would have thrilled him to climb such an ancient structure. The steepness of the angle and the relentless spacing of the steps soon had him gasping for breath, his leg muscles throbbing with the exertion. When they were halfway up, he made the mistake of looking back and felt a sudden rush of vertigo when he saw how steep it was.

He saw the Spanish ruler being dragged up the steps, struggling against the warriors holding him. He looked frantic, like he wanted to fling himself down the steps and commit suicide rather than face what was coming. There would be no compassion shown to him. Roth knew that. He turned away from the awful scene, looked up, and kept climbing.

By the time they reached the top, he was panting and out of breath. The warriors weren’t winded at all. The humidity in the air was stifling, despite it being January. It was probably seventy degrees. The three structures he’d seen from below were revealed now, all arranged on the plateau of the upper level. They were three smaller temples with front-facing openings, a sacrificial altar arranged on each one. To Roth’s surprise, he saw another part of the temple rising even higher behind the three buildings with another pyramid-shaped temple atop it. From the ground level, that temple was totally invisible.

The three structures were glowing with the kem ?m. From the center one emerged another warrior. He surveyed the captives and then walked to the edge of the pyramid steps to look down. He nodded and turned back. A few minutes later, Jacob appeared up the steps. Roth’s face throbbed with pain from the memory of being beaten by the man.

“Are you ready to die, Mr. Roth?” Jacob asked smoothly, his eyes flashing with the desire for vengeance.

Roth wondered if he yanked an arm loose if he’d be able to shove one of his escorts off the stairs. It was a long way down. But he had the feeling that both warriors were expecting him to make a last-ditch effort to free himself. He’d save his effort.

“We’re all going to die ... sooner or later,” Roth panted.

The noise of the helicopters got louder. Jacob’s eyes flashed with annoyance.

“Not your helicopter?” Roth asked.

Jacob frowned. “How typical of the Americans. They’ve wasted so many drones trying to penetrate our shield. Why not waste something even more expensive? They cannot get through, Mr. Roth. Thwarted by an ancient technology.”

“How did the Spanish get past it?”

Calakmul gave him a withering look. “Are you stalling your death, Mr. Roth?”

“Maybe,” Roth shot back. “Does it hurt to tell me, though?”

“It took time to adapt to the weapons the Spanish brought. The cannons. The muskets. We’ve continued to adapt the kem ?m for the times we live in. All creatures must adapt, Mr. Roth. Adapt or die. A lesson that you Americans continually forget.”

Several attack helicopters appeared over the tree line. Roth wasn’t familiar with the type they were, but banks of missiles protruded from each side of the crafts, and the noise of the rotors prompted shrieks from the jungle birds and howler monkeys.

Jacob lifted his hand and then clenched his fist, his ring glowing in a pulse of magic.

He uttered a word in Mayan, and the stela built into the staircase shot streaks of lightning into the approaching helicopters. Roth watched in horror as the helicopters exploded, sending shrapnel cascading through the air. When it hit the shield of kem ?m, the burning bits of metal scattered and shot back up into the sky in arcs, like fireworks.

Jacob lowered his hand, smiling vindictively. “They cannot touch us. And it frustrates them. They are helpless. Powerless. Just like you.”

Then he switched languages and uttered a command.

The warriors holding Brower dragged him to the center altar, which was round and made of dimpled stone. There were grooves and bloodstains, and Roth stared in dread as Brower struggled against his captors.

Roth strained against the two holding him, but they increased the pressure against his sore arms, keeping him put.

Jacob pulled a dart from a leather pouch at his waist and then quickly jabbed it into Brower’s neck. The toxin’s effect was practically immediate. Brower quit struggling, and they deposited his body on the round altar. The warriors backed away, murmuring in their ancient language.

Jacob slipped the needle back into the pouch and then drew an obsidian dagger.

He stood next to Brower’s head, brandishing the knife in the air, the light from the building illuminating him for all below to see.

Jacob shouted to those below, speaking in Mayan, his words amplified by the stelae as if they were speakers. A feeling of darkness engulfed Roth’s heart—this was wrong. It was evil. He watched Brower’s eyes twitch with fear, his mouth paralyzed in a grimace he couldn’t relax.

Then Jacob turned and ripped open the buttons of Brower’s shirt, exposing his pale skin and thatch of chest hair. With his palm, Jacob smoothed open the shirt and traced his finger along Brower’s ribs, right by his heart.

Roth’s gorge began to rise in his throat. He closed his eyes, unable to witness what was about to happen. His knees started shaking, and he felt like he was going to faint.

It was a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

He heard a gasp, the sound of something wet dribbling, and then a choking noise.

A cheer sounded from the multitude gathered below. A cry of victory, of power. Of triumph. They’d come to watch an execution. They’d come to take part in it. Just like in medieval times.

Roth’s ears began ringing. He was going into shock. He was going to vomit.

EAD Brower was dead. And he hadn’t even been able to scream.