12.21 (32 page)

“How’d you two find each other?” Stanton asked as they started unloading equipment from Davies’s vehicle.

“I knocked on your door in Venice,” Monster said. “No one answered, so I let myself in. Brother, your place looks like one fucked-up science experiment, all those mice in there. When you didn’t come back, thought I’d call over to your lab and see if you were all right.”

“Good thing it was me who picked up the phone,” Davies said, “and not one of Cavanagh’s lackeys. She’s monitoring everything we do at the Prion Center. I couldn’t get a glass slide from there without getting caught. Much less a microscope.”

Stanton looked at Monster. “So you got all this from my place?”

“Electra helped me. She’s still there taking care of those mice.”

“You two should stay there for now. Until it’s safe.”

“Don’t know when that’ll be. But we’ll take you up on the offer.”

“You really think you can find these ruins without the book?” Davies asked.

“We have the digital copy, the translation, and a map,” Chel said. They were the first words she’d spoken.

“I’d tell you you’ve gone mad, but you already know that,” Davies told Stanton.

“You got a better idea?” Stanton asked. “Radio says they crossed the five-thousand mark in New York.”

They transferred the biohazard suits, testing tools, a battery-powered microscope, and other equipment needed for a mobile lab into Stanton’s Audi. Finally Davies pulled the last bag from the trunk. “Twenty-three thousand in cash,” he said. “Everyone in the lab got whatever they could. And this.” He opened the bag wider, revealing the gun from Stanton’s safe at the bottom.

“Thank you,” Stanton told the men. “Both of you.”

“How you gonna get out, Doc?” Monster asked. “They just sent in another fifty thousand troops to patrol the border. They’ve got men at every mile, and you’ll never find a private plane or a chopper now.”

Stanton glanced out over the Pacific.

THE CAMPUS OF
Pepperdine University came into view at the stretch of coastline just south of Kanan Beach. Stanton took a hard left onto a long dirt road and followed it until there was nowhere else to go. It took half a dozen trips by foot up and down the rocky embankment to get all the gear onto the beach. Then they waited. This was one of the most uneven sea terrains in Malibu, making it dangerous for anyone sailing at night, unless they knew every outcropping. And they could only assume the coast guard was still patrolling parts of it.

Finally they saw the beam of a flashlight a few hundred yards out. Minutes later Nina approached the shore in a small dinghy. Her hair was wild, and salt caked her skin.

“You made it,” Stanton said as she beached the boat.

They hugged in the darkness and Nina said, “Lucky for you, I’ve been hiding from harbormasters my whole life.”

Even under the circumstances, it was strange for Stanton to be in the company of both these women. “Chel, this is Nina.”

But the two of them seemed immediately at ease around each other. “Thank you for this,” Chel said.

Nina smiled. “Couldn’t pass up the chance to have my ex-husband be forever in my debt.”

They loaded the equipment onto the dinghy and headed off to
Plan A
, anchored about two hundred yards out. As they climbed onto the big boat, Stanton heard a comforting chuff. He bent down and hugged Dogma’s soft, wet coat close to his chest.

Their destination was Ensenada, Mexico, two hundred forty miles south. Nina had contacted the captain of a larger boat, who’d agreed to meet them in a secluded part of the resort town. From there they’d travel
past the Baja peninsula, where they’d have a better chance of chartering a plane to Guatemala. The McGray had a top speed of forty-two knots, which put the trip to Ensenada at about eight hours with refueling.

In the bight that took them to the North Pacific Gyre, Stanton searched the horizon for the coast guard. On her way in, Nina had deciphered the patrol pattern through the bay and navigated several miles out for the safest passage. The only chatter on the radio was from a few others trying to get away, speaking in code.

Out on the ocean, Nina and Stanton alternated at the wheel, with Nina taking on the more difficult stretches. Chel stayed below, sleeping or staring off in silence.

JUST BEFORE SUNRISE
, they ran into an offshoot of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, and the hull of the boat gathered tiny fragments of discarded plastic at the bottom, causing it to drag and bump wildly. Only a captain as good as Nina could have gotten them through it, and as Stanton watched her steer them into calmer waters, he marveled at the skills she had honed over so many years at sea.

Comfortable as she clearly was, things had to have been really weird for her all alone out here for the last week. It was one thing to escape from the world, another thing entirely to imagine there might not be a world left to return to.

“You all right?” he asked her once they were past the gyre.

Nina held the wheel, glancing over at him. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“We were married for three years,” she said. “So we spent about a thousand nights together, minus the third of them you spent in the lab. And the fifteen or so you spent out on the couch when you pissed me off.”

“Practically a rounding error.”

“Well, I was thinking,” she continued, ignoring him. “We sleep eight hours every night. But during the week we spent only a few hours a day
together, right? So we’ve spent more time together asleep than we ever have awake.”

“I guess so.”

They listened to the gentle rhythms of the ocean. Nina shifted the wheel, changing their course slightly. Stanton sensed something still lingering in the look on her face. “What?”

She nodded down at the hold, where Chel was. “You know it’s pretty strange to see you look at someone else that way,” she whispered.

“You haven’t seen us exchange a dozen words.”

“Don’t need to,” Nina said. “I know better than anyone what it looks like when you want something.”

Stanton shrugged it off. “I just met her.”

As Stanton finished the words, Chel emerged; it was the first time she’d come on deck in hours. She moved slowly, pulling herself up by the railing. The strangeness of Stanton and Nina’s conversation lingered, and Chel seemed to sense a slight shift in the emotional weather.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“You have to eat something,” Nina said, changing the subject. “There’s a year’s worth of junk food down there.”

“I will. Thank you.” She turned to Stanton. “We should go over the maps and the trajectories together soon. I started projecting the different paths from Lake Izabal and identifying possible places where the city might plausibly have stood, based on what we know.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”

“I need to make a call first,” Chel said. “Can I use the satellite phone?”

Stanton handed it to her, and she went back down below.

Nina whispered, “That woman just lost her friend, she was screwed by her mentor, and people took that book from her. If I’d been through what she has, it’d take me years to even think straight again. But she’s down there working. I’ve only known one other person in the world who could do that. So don’t be so damn rational. Get to it, for God’s sake.”

THE DIGITAL DISPLAY
on the phone told Chel it was just after eight
A.M
. on December 18. Three days to the end of the Long Count cycle. Three days until Victor and all the rest of them realized they’d murdered Rolando over a fucking calendar.

She would never be able to understand what her mentor had done or forgive herself for letting him back into her life. She’d played every detail over in her head—from the moment she’d showed up at the MJT until Victor left the lab—searching for answers. Trying to find some clue she missed about what he was really capable of.

Slowly, Chel dialed the number she knew best. The cell towers were overwhelmed, but this time, after three rings, she got an answer.

Her mother’s voice came through static. “Chel?”

“Mom, can you hear me?”

“Where are you? Can you come to the church?”

“Are you okay?” Chel asked. “Are you safe?”

“We’re safe. But I’ll be better when you come.”

“Listen, Mom, I can’t talk long. But I wanted to tell you that I’m not in Los Angeles anymore.”

“Where are you going?” Ha’ana asked.

“Kiaqix. From there, we’re going to find the lost city.”

When Ha’ana spoke, her voice sounded resigned. “I never wanted you to take the risks I did, Chel.”

“What do you mean, Mom? … Mom?”

The phone cut out before Ha’ana could respond. Chel tried to get service again, but they’d run through a patch of cloud cover, and she didn’t want to use too much battery. Besides, what else was there to say? Ha’ana was talking again about the risks she’d taken to get them out of Kiaqix. But Chel knew the real courage would have been in
staying
there.

Stanton descended the stairs. He sensed that she needed distraction. “You want to tell me what we should expect in Kiaqix?”

Chel said, “Trees hundreds of feet high, with pink flowers and green
moss that looks like tinsel. More animals per square mile than the best safari in Africa. Not to mention the sweetest honey you’ve ever tasted.”

“Sounds like Shangri-La.”

Stanton reached out and took her hand. She was surprised but happy when he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. He tasted like salt. Like ocean air.

Chel never took her eyes off his. But once they pulled back, she reached down and picked up one of the maps. “Shall we get to work?”

BAHÍA TODOS SANTOS
was the Pacific inlet that led into Ensenada;
Plan A
made it there just before noon. Nina steered them toward a thirty-six-foot Hatteras fishing boat floating five miles offshore. Stanton had insisted they couldn’t risk getting any closer, because Mexican authorities were on the lookout for American vessels trying to escape the epidemic.

They hitched up and Nina made introductions. The captain of the other boat, Dominguez, was stocky, and wrinkled from all his time in the sun. Years earlier, Nina had profiled him for a magazine because he was known along the Gold Coast for his ability to find mackerel in the most difficult stretches of ocean. He spoke little English but welcomed the Americans onto his boat with a tight smile.

Once all the gear was transferred and they’d paid him the agreed-upon four thousand dollars in cash, they were ready to go.

Chel called to Nina from Dominguez’s boat. “Thank you. Again.”

“Good luck,” Nina said. She nodded at Stanton, tears welling. “Take care of him.”

Stanton jumped back onto
Plan A
. A brisk wind blew hard as he rubbed Dogma’s head, then stood and embraced Nina.

“Guess it’s a waste of time to tell you not to do anything stupid,” she said.

“Too late for that. I hope you know …”

Nina cut him off. “Just get your ass home, all right?”

THE TRIP THROUGH
the Mexican portion of the California Current passed in a blur, and just after daybreak the following morning, they rounded the Baja peninsula and headed east across the gulf. With their native captain, they had no problem getting past the few coastal patrols near Cabo, and finally they made landfall at Mazatlán. The aroma of fried dough from the mestizo street carts filled the air. Life seemed to be going on as usual here, and if anyone was particularly concerned about VFI, they didn’t show it.

After docking, Dominguez paid off a harbormaster, then told the man they needed a van or SUV. Half an hour later, they had an old silver jeep for twenty-five hundred dollars. With the gear transferred, Dominguez waved goodbye.

At Mazatlán International, men with machine guns manned the entrance. People inside eyed Stanton and Chel warily. This was a major hub, and unlike at the port, the sight of Stanton’s gringo face clearly unnerved some of the travelers here. At the private air terminal, he and Chel got the bad news: All charter planes were booked, ferrying Mexico’s wealthy farther from the epidemic. Complicating matters, they needed a plane large enough to carry the jeep they’d just procured.