Ruins (25 page)

His amazement doubled when he reached the next level. He had arrived at the chamber from which the glowing beacon emanated. He had to shield his eyes from the light, which burned so brightly that his skull hurt. This must be the control bridge, he thought. He slowly scanned the entire room.

The entire chamber remained virtually intact, its oddly complex protrusions—machinery?—apparently functional. Mulder instantly realized that this place must have held enormous religious significance for the Maya.

Suddenly Mulder saw something that made him freeze, his stomach tightening.

One of the chambers was filled with a strange translucent substance, an ethereal gel that held a shadow, an outline—a silhouetted humanoid figure, poised motionless in the far doorway, arms out-stretched, legs partially apart. The silhouette looked slen-der, skeletal, distorted by the engulfing murk.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, Mulder staggered across the sloping deck of the bridge to reach the narrow chamber—and he saw then that the silhouetted figure surrounded by the gelatinous substance was that of a young woman with long hair and human features.

Mulder hesitated. The rational part of his mind knew it couldn't be his sister. It couldn't be her.

As he stood before the outline/ blinking and squinting in the bright light all around him, he studied the woman who hung frozen in place, trapped like an insect in amber

As he strained to make out the details, Mulder saw that her face seemed surprised, her mouth partly opened, her eyes wide, as if she had been suddenly captured there like a photographic image. The gelatin grew clearer, as if stirred by unseen currents of energy. He noted her green-brown eyes, her petite figure that looked as if it could well have fit inside the diving suit Scully had used. Flowing cinnamon-colored hair, a spray of fresh red scratches on one cheek.

Of all the wonders that Mulder had seen and found inside the derelict ship, he was most surprised by this one.

After their days of searching, he had finally found Cassandra Rubicon.

Xitaclan ruins Wednesday, 2:33 a.m.

Major Jakes ordered Scully to get down, and she had no choice but to obey.

He bellowed orders for his forces to launch their all-out counterstrike.

Random sniper fire from the jungle shot out one more hastily erected arc light, but dazzling phosphorous flares lit the sky to compensate, creating a strobe light effect that accentuated the explosions and gunfire.

From the weapons supplies inside one of the armored all-terrain vehicles, two soldiers set up a small rocket bat-tery and then a grenade launcher. Scully covered her ears as the commandos began to wreak Armageddon on the dense jungle.

Startled gunfire rang out from the scattered Liberation Quintana Roo freedom fighters. But as trees erupted into gouts of fire and detonations thundered through the underbrush, Scully heard more wild out-cries, panicked shouts, and screams of pain.

A salvo of automatic-weapon fire chattered back out of the trees. Two of Major Jakes's commandos were hurled to the ground, torn apart by heavy caliber bullets. One moaned, one didn't.

"Stay under cover!" Major Jakes shouted, with a firm hand pressing Scully down beside the pathetic shelter of the low tents.

The surrounding jungle began to burn. Another com-mando took the place of the fallen soldier at the rocket launcher and shot four tiny missiles toward the heart of the hidden gunfire. The detonations sounded louder than the recent volcanic tremors.

The sniper fire trailed off again. Over the crackle of flames in the smothering underbrush, Scully could hear receding shouts under cover of the mahogany trees and creeper-entangled jungle. The flares in the sky cast a parade of shadows.

One of the grime-smeared, breathless young comman-dos came running up, squatting as he scurried for cover. From the soft, rounded features of his face, Scully couldn't imagine that the soldier was more than twenty, but his eyes were flinty and hard, aged well beyond his years.

"The enemy seems to be falling back, sir," the young soldier said.

"Temporarily, at least."

Major Jakes nodded. "Superior firepower is always enough to intimidate upstart forces. I want you to run and get a damage assessment."

"I can give you a preliminary, sir," the soldier said. "At least four men down, three fatally, one ... well, it still looks pretty bad, Major."

Jakes looked deeply stunned, as if the wind had been knocked out of him, then he drew a deep breath, the nos-trils of his aquiline nose flaring wide. "Six left," he said.

Another soldier came up, bleeding from the right side of his rib cage; he didn't allow the injury to slow him down. "The guerrilla force has disappeared into the trees, sir," he said. "We suspect they're regrouping for another assault."

"They know they can't outgun us," Jakes said. "But they can wait us out."

"Do you request that we go out on a hunting expedi-tion, Major?" the soldier asked, distractedly squeezing his side to stanch the blood flow.

Major Jakes shook his head. "Any word on their leader? The man issuing demands?"

"Preliminary only, sir," the soldier said. He pulled his hand away from the wound on his side, flexing his sticky fingers. Scully could see a gouge of ripped flesh, cauterized from the heat of a passing bullet. The sol-dier looked at the wet sparkle of blood on his palm, then nonchalantly wiped his hand on the leg of his camouflaged pants as if getting rid of a squashed bug.

"The leader has also run for cover, we believe. Unfortunately, we must presume he is not injured. He was last seen making a break for the main citadel in the ruins, there." The soldier gestured toward the Pyramid of Kukulkan. "Perhaps that's some sort of rebel stronghold or additional weapons stockpile. Clearly our primary target."

"This is an archaeological site, not a military target," Scully said, forcing herself to her knees and pushing away from Jakes. It infuriated her to see the death and injuries, the wanton destruction caused by both Barreio's freedom fighters and Major Jakes's commandos. "It's just an ancient Mayan ruin, can't you see? Nothing more!"

"All evidence to the contrary." Major Jakes looked at her, his face stony. "If Xitaclan is merely a site of histori-cal interest, then why is this gang of rebels defending it with lethal force?" He turned to the injured soldier, who stood waiting for further orders. "Proceed with the objec-tives of the mission. I want two mortar launchers set up and ready to go within ten minutes."

"Yes, sir," the man said, then ran off, ducking low and weaving for cover across the battered plaza despite the lack of gunfire.

"By what right do you come in here and attack a sovereign country and destroy a site of priceless archaeo-logical value?" Scully demanded. "These ruins are thou-sands of years old, never before studied by science or historians. You have no proof that this is some weapons stockpile or revolutionary base."

Major Jakes withdrew her confiscated badge and ID wallet from the generous pocket of his camouflaged pants, scrutinized her identification again, and handed the wallet back to her. "Very well, Special Agent Scully of the Federal Bureau of Investigation," he said. "Let me show you my evidence. Since you are already inside the security restrictions of this mission, you're bound by the legalities and classification of what you've seen."

"I have a security clearance, and I know how to keep my mouth shut," Scully said. "But I don't have any answers. Yet."

"Come with me, please," he said, "over to the lead vehicle." Without waiting for her, he ducked and ran toward the ATVs. Scully scrambled after him, imitating his evasive pattern as she remembered the training she had undergone at Quantico. She found it amazing how the presence of danger sharpened her memory.

But this operation was different from a simple sus-pect shoot-out: Xitaclan had become the site of an all-out war. Luckily, though, the offensive sniper fire did not ring out again, and the two of them reached the large-wheeled vehicle without incident.

From a sealed compartment, Major Jakes removed a thin dossier packet: pictures and files printed out on flimsy, water-soluble paper. With strong hands, he pulled out two curling black-and-white satellite pho-tographs. They were blurred, as if they had been faxed several times.

"This photograph shows what remains of the stronghold of a major Central American drug lord, Xavier Salida," Jakes said. "Heavily guarded and well provi-sioned with weapons. We've known about his illegal activities for some time. The Drug Enforcement Agency has worked with the local Mexican police in an attempt to set him up—but Salida was untouchable. Too many corrupt politicians in his pocket. That's always the prob-lem with the drug lords out here."

"If you worked with local police like Carlos Barreio, I can see why," Scully said sourly. She bent closer to study the satellite photograph. "So why am I looking at a crater? Did your team take him out because you couldn't extradite him legally? Is this what you intend to do here at Xitaclan? Leave a big crater?"

"No," Jakes said, not the least bit offended. Even the dose firelight seemed not to rattle him. The small injury to his shoulder had stopped bleeding. "We had nothing to do with this event.

"The crater radius and the condition of the surface, as well as concurrent seismic evidence and a faint atmo-spheric flash detected by one of our side-looking horizon satellites, allows us to draw only one conclusion: without question, this is the result of a tactical nuclear strike."

"You mean somebody lobbed an atomic bomb at a Mexican drug lord?" Scully said in disbelief.

"That's what the evidence conclusively proves, Agent Scully. Nothing else could have released this much heat and energy in a single burst."

"But how?" Scully asked. "Where would a rival drug lord get his hands on a warhead?"

Jakes nodded to himself, pursing his lips. "Here's a scenario: A certain number of displaced nuclear arma-ments may have been diverted during the breakup of the former Soviet Union. It's possible some of these lost assets may have fallen into the hands of terrorists. These slimeballs do a better job of eliminating each other than we do of apprehending them."

Scully stared at the curled photo again. "With a nuke? Isn't that going a bit overboard?"

Major Jakes sidestepped the question. "We also know that the revolutionary group Liberation Quintana Roo—the gentlemen shooting at us this evening—have been gath-ering up weapons for their hopeless fight against the cen-tral Mexican government. We are greatly concerned that one or more of these missing tactical nuclear weapons may have fallen into their hands. We believe the guerrilla group would hold few compunctions against using it in a major populated area."

Scully nodded, concerned to see the actual reasoning behind the drastic actions Major Jakes and his comman-dos had undertaken. She pressed her lips together as her thoughts whirled, wondering if the murders of the archaeology team had something to do with gun-running activities or weapons sales to drug lords. Could the ille-gal revolutionary group have been using Xitaclan as a secret base, undiscovered, until a nosy team of American scientists came in to poke around?

But that didn't help Mulder, who had run off in the direction of the pyramid two hours ago. She hoped he hadn't been taken prisoner by the revolutionaries, or shot.

"That still doesn't tell me why Xitaclan," Scully said. "Why here? These isolated ruins have been untouched for centuries. There are no roads, no facilities, no power—obviously it's not a high-security compound. There's nothing here. Why an all-out strike in the middle of nowhere?"

Jakes reached over into the control panel of the all-terrain vehicle. He switched on the flatscreen grid, which glowed gray and silvery blue before the images resolved into a topographical line drawing of a close-up of their location, centering down from the overall Yucatan Peninsula. Jakes punched several commands, and the map zoomed to a smaller and smaller scale. A pulsing light throbbed from a location on the map like a sonar signal or a heartbeat.

"This transmission emanates from here, Agent Scully. Prior to the strike on Xavier Salida's fortress, the signal appeared on our military receivers. It seems to be encoded. We cannot determine its origin or its purpose, but we believe the signal is linked to these activities. Therefore my team has been given orders to penetrate whatever defenses might surround this isolated jungle base—and to destroy the transmitter."

Scully watched the pulsing signal, the hypnotic pat-tern of flashing light on the screen. "How do you know that's a military transmission?" she said. "If it's in a code you don't understand, you have no reason to believe it could be a threat. That's quite a leap of logic."

Major Jakes remained staring at the screen, his dark eyes intent. "Our intelligence has classified it as a military threat."

"What intelligence?" Scully said, gripping the side of the vehicle. "What do they know beyond what you're telling me?"

"It's not my place to question them, Agent Scully," Major Jakes said. "I need only to know the target and the objective. My commando squad is tasked with carrying out those orders, not in debating them. From experience, we know that's best for all concerned."

The first injured soldier staggered up to the all-terrain vehicle, panting.

Scully noted mat the narrow gash in his side had split open again, spilling fresh blood into his uniform. "All set up, sir. Ready to rock and roll, as soon as you give the order."

"Very well—the order is given." Jakes straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. He did not turn to face Scully. "Let's take that pyramid down."

Scully looked toward the silhouetted ziggurat in the flickering flames from jungle fires, wondering if Mulder had found shelter.

"Let 'er rip!" a young voice shouted.

Scully watched in horror as the commandos began to launch explosive mortars into the ruins.

Xitaclan derelict ship Wednesday, 2:41 a.m.

When Mulder finally recovered from the shock of finding Cassandra Rubicon, caught in the derelict ship like a fly in a spiderweb, he stepped back. He drew several deep breaths, calming himself, remembering to focus, to study all the details, acquire all the information, before he did any-thing rash. Assess the situation ...