Mexico City was hot and hazy, even at night. We landed at Benito Juarez International Airport and were met by another agent from
the Service who introduced himself as Ralondo Maria Eduardo Delgado Galvan Rodriguez de Luna. I must have looked confused because he smiled and said, "And that's the shorthand version. I answer to Eddie Delgado."
"Nice to meet you, Eddie," I said. Blake and Eddie a compact and very muscular young man with the grace of a dancer were apparently old friends. They conversed easily for a moment in Spanish, then switched to
English.
"Sorry, Eileen. I forgot you don't speak Spanish," Blake said as Eddie showed us to the car a nice, older black Mercedes. "Armor-plated," he explained as we put our luggage in the trunk. "Confiscated
from a former drug lord."
Eddie started the Mercedes and performed an intricate traffic ballet as he talked, avoiding an aggressive bus on the left, sparing the life of a pedestrian on the right. "I understand
you two worked that ugly business in the Middle East," he said. "And now you're after Nine."
"Nine's imposter, you mean," I corrected.
We filled Eddie in on what we'd learned about the man who was
masquerading as Nine. We believed he was really an actor named Kip Brownwell. Brownwell starred in a hugely-popular series of movies made back in the 70s. Once the movies faded, he dropped off the screen.
Brownwell reappeared in the late 80s, emerging under the name of Chameleon. Chameleon was noted for his uncanny ability to impersonate just about anyone. He first made his mark on the international scene as a very
convincing double for a nefarious Middle Eastern leader a man who found it convenient to be in two places at one time.
Agency Intel analysts believed Chameleon was now working on his own as a free agent,
selling the information he secured as Nine to the highest bidder. He'd apparently had enough of being the sinister, Peter Lorre-like lackey for evil geniuses. Now, he was an evil genius in his own right sort of a bad
guy turned worse.
"And he's very good at what he does," Blake commented. "He's managed to lay down dozens of trails and no one knows which is the correct one. The British with our help are eliminating them,
one by one. It's a huge manpower drain, so we're assigning some of our people to the chase, too."
We had dinner in a small, but very nice restaurant near the Service's Mexico City Headquarters, then Eddie
dropped us off at our hotel a modest place where middle income American tourists stay and we registered in two separate rooms with an adjoining door just in case. The next morning we would meet with Professor
Lichtman at his home.
* * * * *
Lichtman lived in an older, upper-class neighborhood a pleasant, sprawling place with a red tile roof and spacious rooms cooled by ceiling fans.
His
housekeeper showed us in and led us to the professor's study. We were invited to make ourselves comfortable as she went to find our host.
I was reading the titles of some of the books on Lichtman's shelves when
he arrived, apologizing for not being there to greet us. Lichtman had a pleasant face and close-cropped salt and pepper beard. He noticed my interest in his book collection.
"I collect first editions," he said.
Blake got right to the point. "Dr. Lichtman, we understand there've been some unusual occurrences in the south and you think they may be related to an ancient Mayan god."
Lichtman nodded. "Yes, that is
correct. As I told your Mr. Delgado and his colleagues, there is something going here in Mexico and Guatemala, in the heart of the ancient Mayan ruins, that is both perplexing and disturbing."
The housekeeper
appeared with a tray bearing lemonade. She served us and then left. I took a sip of my lemonade and involuntarily made a face. It was sour.
"I forgot to warn you. I dislike sugar or any type of sweets. You must
add your own," he explained in perfect, but slightly accented English as he handed me the sugar bowl.
We sipped our lemonade and listened as Lichtman told us about the ancient Mayan deity, Ah Puch (Ay
Pook), the god of death.
"The ancient Maya feared death, so the god representing death is quite ugly. He's most often portrayed with a skull for a head and a skeleton or decomposing flesh for a body. Ah Puch
always wears bells and is closely associated with both the god of war known as Ah Katun and human sacrifice.
"Ah Puch is one of the gods of the underworld, known as Xibalba (she-bahl-buh). He rules the ninth
and lowest level of Xibalba which is the Mayan version of the Judeo-Christian Hell. Ah Puch's level is the worst of them all a place of eternal cold and darkness. It is known as Mitnal.
"Ah Puch's associated with
three other things: dogs, owls and the Moan bird. In fact, Ah Puch is alternately depicted as having an owl's head. Owls are so closely associated with death in Mayan tradition that whenever one is heard screeching,
it's believed to be a harbinger of death. Ah Puch himself is, needless to say, a malevolent and quite evil creature, delighting in murder, human sacrifice and dark ritual."
Lichtman continued to fill in
background concerning Ah Puch, ancient Mayan legend and passages in the Popol Vuh recounting the Mayan concept of creation and their deities. I was growing impatient. While this was interesting, it didn't seem relevant
to me, so I said so.
"If I may be so rude as to ask, what does any of this have to do with the present, Prof. Lichtman?" I finished the last of my lemonade and politely refused a refill.
"It's not rude
at all, my dear," he said, then took a deep breath, as though what he was about to say was difficult.
"Doubtless you will think I've lost my mind, but I have reason to believe that Ah Puch exists and that he has
been, um, conjured up, for lack of a better term, by the man you seek." For a moment, the only sound in the room was the clinking of his glass against the heavy silver ring on his left index finger as he swirled the ice
in his drink.
Blake and I were speechless. After all, what can you say when a highly-respected, intelligent and learned man tells you be believes a mythological god has been brought to life except, "Do you
know any good therapists?" Lichtman must have sensed our skepticism.
"You're probably wondering why this should concern you. Please, let me explain. The Maya were very advanced in several areas but the one
place they really shone was in their calendar. The Mayan calendar was amazingly accurate and still is. But the long count calendar only runs until December 21, 2012 5,125 years from the first day of the
calendar. Then it stops."
"What happened did they run out of paper?" I asked. Blake scowled at me.
"No. They believed that is the day the world will come to an end, and
" his voice trailed off.
"And?" I asked.
"I believe they were right."
Lichtman continued, " Chameleon has managed to bring Ah Puch to life. I know, I know, it sounds insane, but hear me out. I do not make this claim
lightly. But I do believe that if the old rituals are followed to the letter they have great power. And Chameleon has been spotted in several locations, from Mexico to Guatemala, within the territory of the ancient
Mayan civilization. Based on reports that have come to me, I believe Chameleon is preparing the world for Armageddon. Although, I must admit, I cannot fathom why anyone would do such a thing."
Blake and I could
fathom just fine: he wanted leverage. But leverage for what? That we didn't know.
* * * * *
By the time Blake and I left Dr. Lichtman's residence, we were of the opinion that either the good
professor was slipping vodka in his lemonade or we'd stumbled on to the strangest case either of us had ever seen.
"How do we know Chameleon is behind this goofy theory?" I asked Blake as we pulled out of the
professor's driveway.
"There've been a number of suspicious incidents in the regions populated by present-day descendants of the Mayas. People turn up missing, later to be found dead the victims of what looks
like ritual sacrifice," Blake said.
"Our Central American command has been tracking an individual who matches the description of Nine. He's been seen several times in the vicinity of these incidents at the time they
took place. And in almost every case he has had contact with the victim prior to his or her disappearance."
"Hmmmm. Sounds like a kind of macabre 'Duck, duck, goose,'" I said.
Blake rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
We didn't have much to go on, but we knew where we needed to be: On the road to Guatemala and points south. Man I hate hot, humid weather. My
hair frizzes, I sweat, I sunburn. And I also complain a lot. But where we were headed, air conditioning was out and humidity was in.
We were going where the owl screeches loud and often and the dead tell stories
of being sacrificed and believe it or not worse things. Much worse the kinds of things that bring nightmares.
We were going, we were told, where a madman and a long-forgotten supposedly mythical god were
planning to bring the world to an end.
I didn't know it yet, but I was about to meet a "living" myth. Believe me, that was one introduction I could have done without.
