The four combatants charge forward, the soldier in white first to the ‘ball.’ As he feints a strike, one of the masked goons bullrushes him, attempting to club him with his stick. White pirouettes gracefully to his right-and lets loose a vicious backhand fist, which catches the larger assailant square in the throat, sending him to his knees – as a second warrior raises his club, intent on stabbing the soldier in the back with its sharpened end.
But the man in white is too skilled and far too quick. With out so much as a glance over his shoulder he launches a thrusting rear kick that shatters the warrior’s mask, snapping his neck in two.
The would-be killer collapses, dead before he hits the ground.
Immanuel feels nauseous as he watches the man in white step over his dead assailants, kicking the skull-ball back to his ebony-clad teammate.
Dr. Mohr points as two more warriors step out of line to greet their opponents, now quickly advancing the skull-ball toward the eastern goal. ‘This is not quite how the Mayans played, but it’s how the Under Lords of Xibalba challenged the Hero Twins.’
The blood rushes from Manny’s face.
White clubs the object to Black. The skull-ball takes a wild hop over the soldier’s foot. Turning to retrieve it, Black is barreled over by one of the replacement players, a 260-pound brute masked in a crimson demon’s mask. Leaping over the man in black, the brown-skinned warrior kicks the skull-ball to his teammate, who races barefoot across the field toward the western ring… and the goal mounted below the observation window.
White, by far the most skilled athlete on the field, overtakes the Mayan and trips him from behind-just as the warrior strikes the ball.
Manny and Dr. Mohr instinctively duck as the airborne head smashes against the glass with a dull thud, the battered face leaving a bloodied imprint on the partition.
White rebounds the wild bank shot and heads back the other way, controlling the wobbling skull with his feet and stick. Evading another assailant’s knife, he angles for the eastern wall and its stone hoop.
Two more linebacker-sized warriors abandon the line to cut him off, each man’s club brandishing a two-foot-long obsidian spike.
Manny squeezes his fists, measuring speed and distance. This is it
… there’s no way he can escape this double-team.
In an incredible move combining soccer, kung fu, and gymnastics, White casually flips the skull-ball over the advancing warriors’ heads, then leaps off the ground and executes a stunning airborne double side kick from a full split, the heel-to-face impact a double deathblow that shatters the shocked combatants’ temporal bones into brain-slicing fragments.
‘Jesus…’
White lands, takes three strides forward, and in one continuous motion kicks the skull-ball, sending it end over end toward the stone ring.
With a sickening thwack, the severed head banks high off the eastern wall and passes through the hoop – instantly transforming the arena into something entirely different.
Gone is the Mayan Ball Court. In its place-the valley of a hellish underworld, its mountainous horizon bathed in vermilion twilight cast from a subterranean roof of volcanic coal. Whiffs of brown smoke roll beneath the emberlike ceiling, creating shadows of movement throughout the terrain.
Manny’s limbs turn to Jell-O. He leans against the glass for support.
At the heart of the valley is an enormous crater lake, its molten silvery surface simmering. Rising along the far bank is a great alabaster tree, its entanglement of ivory-colored roots knotted and thick, its sequoia-sized trunk dripping a white ooze.
The bare limbs of the monstrous tree stretch outward in every direction, twisting in the hot wind as if animated with life.
Suspended from one centrally located knot along the trunk is an object – a human skull.
Dr. Mohr points. Coming into view-the two soldiers, still clad in their respective white and black body armor. They are double-timing it, approaching the crater lake from the east, the man in white now wielding a double-edged sword.
The center of the lake begins bubbling as they approach.
Immanuel grips the cool iron guardrail in his sweaty palms, unable to move… unable to breathe.
Something large is rising from the depths of the lake. Thick globs of silvery ooze drip away… revealing a tall alien biped.
Lead gray silicon-like skin. Two arms and legs, heavily segmented, as if adorned in body armor. The anvil-shaped skull is disproportionately large, like that of a monstrous fire ant. Instead of being positioned above its three-humped shoulder, the skull extends horizontally in front of the chest like a turtle’s neck, giving the creature an upright yet squat appearance. There are no facial features other than a slit of a mouth and two pupilless eyes, which blaze a burned yellow against the dark skin covering.
The eight-and-a-half-foot being continues to rise out of the silvery lake, its tall, grotesque, angular body devoid of hair or clothing. The thorax is V-shaped and powerful, the abdomen slender, connecting to a pair of squat legs-humanoid in design-except they are twice as thick below the knee as above.
The upper arms are dense and powerful, and hang stiffly from the wide shoulder girdle. The elbows are ball joint in design, allowing the heavy forearms to rotate 360 degrees.
Most frightening of all are the being’s hands. Huge and clawlike in appearance, they support four slender, scalpel-sharp fingers. The digits are three times as long as the palm and spaced wide, giving each hand an almost spiderlike appearance.
Fully exposed, the being walk-glides across the lake’s mirrorlike surface, sloshing toward the eastern shore.
The two soldiers race to reach the alabaster tree before the alien.
Ten seconds until Nexus. The computerized voice startles Manny.
Nine… eight… seven…
Dr. Mohr moves closer to the glass, his expression suddenly all business. ‘Come on, come on, you can do it this time.’
The alien approaches the thickly rooted tree, reaching for the skull.
Three… two… one Twin streaks of ice-blue lightning… a blinding flash of crimson… then nothingness.
The violet lights return.
The lake is gone, as is the alien, the tree, and the entire hellish underworld. In its place-the sterile gray emptiness of an immense holographic suite.
Down on one knee, holding his cloaked head in his hands, is the warrior in white. His companion in black is gone.
Dr. Mohr waits a moment, then touches the comm link on his shirt collar. ‘Are you all right?’
The soldier nods weakly.
‘Success?’
The man in white shakes his head-no.
Mohr pinches his brow, obviously disappointed. ‘Dominique is here. She brought her son.’
The man in white stands. Limps toward the glass wall and looks up. Reaches for the hidden latches of his body armor. Slowly removes his hood.
Immanuel presses his face to the glass.
The white hair is longer, the eyes still piercing azure blue, cold and calculating.
Jake…
28
11:34 a.m.
It is the most prestigious and powerful address in the world, a political village heavy with history, situated on eighteen acres. First occupied by President John Adams on November 1, 1800, it nearly burned to the ground fourteen years later at the hands of British troops. The home would be rebuilt and refurbished, with colonnades and office space added to both its east and west wings. While a vast subterranean control center would later be excavated beneath the dwelling, the 132-room mansion itself has remained virtually unchanged for over two centuries.