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  The Strangest Thing

  A Brian Sadler Archaeological Mystery

  Book Three of the Series

  Dedication

  I want to mention three people who’ve accompanied me on trips to strange and unusual places.

  First there are my two sons, Jeff and Ryan Thompson. With them I have seen wonderful things – the Nazca lines, Sacsayhuaman and Machu Picchu in Peru and the marvels of Egypt.

  My good friend David Crocker was with us in Peru. Later I made another trip to Egypt and also to Petra with him and his family.

  And it was David who was with me the first time I saw the Temple of the Inscriptions at Palenque, the subject of The Strangest Thing.

  To these three companions in adventure

  I dedicate this book.

  “Have no fear of them

  for nothing is covered that will not be revealed,

  or hidden that will not be known.”

  Matthew 10:26

  Historical Prelude

  Palenque and the Tomb of King Pakal

  The ancient Mayan city of Palenque lies in a heavily forested area in the state of Chiapas, Mexico, close to the Guatemalan border. Fifteen hundred years ago the great Maya civilization stretched from east central Mexico southwards through what is now Guatemala, Belize and Honduras. Today the area around Palenque – in fact the entire state of Chiapas – has a certain wild-west flair. The state previously was part of Guatemala and seems so different from the rest of Mexico that many residents believe Chiapas should be that way again. Rebels wearing ski masks and toting automatic rifles are visible evidence of the support of these people for secession from Mexico. They run crude checkpoints along the highways of Chiapas, blocking the road with vehicles and even tanks they have “appropriated” from the Government. Although fearsome in appearance they pose no real threat to the tourists who make their ways to the old Mayan city.

  There is no Maya site about which more is known than Palenque. It was on the radar of explorers, raiders and archaeologists two hundred years ago. It is the archetypical lost city – hidden in the dense forest for a millennium before being located by pioneer exploration teams who marveled at its skyscraper temples. Never mind that these men thought Palenque had been built by Egyptians. Its grandeur and sheer size gave them little reason to believe the truth: it was built by the Mayan people. How an unsophisticated band of people in the jungles of Central America learned architecture, symmetry, the raising of multi-ton stones a hundred feet high – construction techniques that are difficult even today – has always been puzzling. They emerged from farming and warring to building hundreds of massive structures. These buildings were built over a thousand-mile area in what are now Honduras, Guatemala, Belize and Mexico. And they went from being farmers to becoming master architects in less than three generations.

  How did they do this? Were they taught? If so, by whom? How and where did they get the knowledge to build these massive structures all over Central America?

  Even in today’s partially excavated state, the city of Palenque is reminiscent of the power and authority of its rulers. Significant inscriptions have been discovered that have aided scholars in understanding the Maya civilization. And the site itself is breathtaking – ancient skyscraper temples reach toward the heavens while tall mounds nearby promise more to come once funds and time to excavate become available. As university archaeological expeditions open buildings heretofore covered in trees and dirt, they find exciting new things. In the 1990s, for instance, the South Group of buildings was excavated, resulting in some impressive and spectacular discoveries including rare examples of Mayan writing.

  Mostly restored, the so-called Temple of the Inscriptions is considered one of the finest examples of Mayan architecture and Palenque’s most striking structure. It was built during the reign of King K’inich Janaab Pakal (Pakal the Great) who lived from 603 to 683 AD.

  In 1952 Alberto Ruz, the director of research at Mexico’s National Institute of Anthropology and History, discovered the answer to a question that had long puzzled archaeologists about the Temple of the Inscriptions. There were several holes drilled through a stone that lay in the middle of the temple’s top floor, many stories above the verdant jungle below. No one knew why the holes were there until Ruz and a team of men dug far below the floor and shined a light through a small hole his men had cut into the limestone below. He looked upon a room he described as a “vision from a fairy tale…a magic grotto…an abandoned chapel.” When he gazed downwards, he saw something that had not been seen by human eyes in over a thousand years – the magnificent carved lid of the sarcophagus of a person who had to have been a very important ruler. In fact, the immense Temple of the Inscriptions had been built over and around the tomb.

  Today travelers to Palenque are offered the opportunity to see the room where the ruler still rests. It lies deep within the pyramid; to get there one must start from the very top of the pyramid, snake his way down a stone staircase in a narrow passage that winds down seventy-five feet through the middle of the temple. It is no place for those suffering from claustrophobia – the air quickly becomes stale and close. Maneuvering the passage is like crawling through a small opening in a cave. It’s not for the faint of heart.

  At last the passageway opens into a crypt constructed below the base of the temple at the time the pyramid was built. Inside the room is the intact resting place of a man ultimately identified as King Pakal, ruler of Palenque at the height of its power and prestige and the builder of the Temple of the Inscriptions.

  The elaborate lid of Pakal’s sarcophagus is an enigma. It is covered with ornate and very peculiar drawings and is one of the great mysteries of modern times. Many archaeologists believe it shows the King dying like the setting sun, journeying into the underworld of death and emerging as the rising sun. But ancient astronaut theorists and many others claim it clearly shows the king in some type of space vehicle, his hand on a lever and his body lying back as if preparing to be launched in a rocket. If you look at the drawings on the lid with an open mind you can see how the latter viewpoint arose.

  In every Mayan city archaeologists have found that temples and pyramids were constructed on top of and/or surrounding earlier structures. Many rulers chose to enhance, beautify and expand existing buildings rather than starting from scratch.

  Although there is no historical evidence that this was the case at the monument called the Temple of the Inscriptions where King Pakal was buried, this book offers the premise that this particular temple at Palenque, like countless other buildings in ancient Mayan cities, was itself constructed around and atop something far, far older than the Maya civilization – perhaps even older than civilization itself.

  Chapter One

  Tuesday

  Two days before the disappearance

  President John Chapman was stretched out on a couch in front of a roaring fire in the Oval Office of the White House. He had kicked off his shoes and grabbed a rare half hour of solitude between meetings. In his hand was the latest issue of Archaeology Magazine. He was deeply engrossed in an article about a recent find – a hidden city in Peru, one that could rival Machu Picchu in size and grandeur once it was excavated.

  Chapman had a passion for archaeological adventure. He loved the reports of new discoveries and enjoyed reading about expeditions to remote areas in virtually impenetrable jungles. As the most powerful man on earth, he was privy to the newest and latest things people were finding worldwide. He fueled his hobby by making sure his contacts around the world kept him informed of interesting developments in their countries.

  The President was a sc
ion of one of America’s wealthiest families. Other men of vast wealth had been elected President, most recently John F. Kennedy, whose net worth in today’s dollars was estimated at over $1 billion. George Washington, the father of our country, was second on the most-wealthy list at around $500 million. Chapman didn’t hold a candle to those two but he was worth well over $250 million personally.

  Men such as John Chapman instantly got what they wanted and needed. Chapman had never done the things others take for granted, like waiting in line or being put on hold for three minutes or being denied the best table at a restaurant. At this lofty level of power some people tend to be curt and impatient with others. John Chapman was one of those. He could be the friendliest guy in the world at a baby-kissing political fund-raiser. Touring a factory, you’d think he empathized totally with the people pushing brooms or installing widgets.

  But he didn’t. People who have the influence and money of John Chapman’s family think differently than the rest of us. They were different, of course, with all that power. But a few of them, like President Chapman’s parents, instilled in their children the notion that they were better than other people – that the have-nots were there to serve the ones with money. Families like this would have been happy in eighteenth century England where the wealthy owned the land and cast the votes while the uneducated poor were their indentured servants.

  Interestingly, many of these people were never satisfied with what they had. They wanted more. More power. More money. More excitement. More first-hand looks at the rarest, strangest and newest discoveries in the world.

  President Chapman had forty-eight hours left.

  A quiet ding across the room took him away from the Andes Mountains and back to reality. He went to his desk, glanced quickly at his computer screen to see whose call had been sent through, then picked up the phone and spoke to the Vice President, William Henry Harrison IV.

  The President skipped the pleasantries. “Harry, the Senate has to pass that pipeline bill. It’s been held up in committee for weeks and I’m surprised your constituents in Oklahoma aren’t yelling their heads off. The pipeline from Canada to south Texas benefits everyone. My Nebraska friends certainly want to see it happen and I know your people do too. So get in there and twist a few arms. Get this bill out of committee and on the floor. Then get it passed!” Chapman listened a moment then abruptly hung up. He got Harry Harrison’s word that the bill would be brought out and successfully dealt with. Harry had never let John Chapman down. And Chapman knew he wouldn’t do it now. People who let him down usually lived to regret it.

  Another ding alerted him to look at the monitor on the credenza behind his desk. His personal secretary, one of three at his disposal, advised him the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico was on the phone. Few calls received Chapman’s immediate attention – those from a select group were the exception. It was possible this was a business call but Chapman hoped it wasn’t. His adrenalin always began flowing when he anticipated the possibility that someone was calling to give him inside news about his passionate hobby.

  Picking up the receiver, President Chapman said, “Good morning, Mr. Ambassador. I hope things are well with you down in Mexico City.” The President glanced at his computer screen. “How’s Elizabeth and how are Paul and Kevin?”

  Each time John Chapman’s private secretary sent through a call she accompanied it with an instant message providing information about the person who was on the line. These notes always included names of spouses and children, including their ages. If Chapman had been with the caller in the past year, that notation was included as well so he could easily and simply refer to their last meeting as though it were fresh on his mind. That was a big help for President Chapman since his lack of concern for other people was well known inside the White House but a secret to most outsiders.

  “My family and I are fine, Mr. President. Thank you for asking. I know your time is valuable so let me get right to the purpose of my call. The last time you and I were together you spoke of your passion for archaeology and ancient enigmas. I took the liberty of letting a couple of friends know of your interest. They run the archaeological side of things at the National Institute here in Mexico City. I told them I’d consider it a personal favor if I could be among the first to know if anything new and unusual turned up. And this one involves Palenque – a place you already know about.

  “Remember the phone call you made a couple of months ago to smooth the process for Sussex University to get its dig permits at Palenque? That allowed their team to get started much faster than usual. They’ve been working there awhile. No one knew if anything else might be found buried there along with King Pakal’s body. But sir, they’ve really come across something unique. I think you’re going to want to see it.”

  John Chapman felt excitement growing inside as he listened to the Ambassador describe an incredible, almost unbelievable discovery at Palenque in the southernmost Mexican state of Chiapas. The Ambassador stated that the find had so far not been disclosed to the public. Chapman knew that was true – if this information were available to anyone on earth he would have known already.

  “In case you wanted to see what they’ve found, sir,” the Ambassador said, “I’ve arranged to have everything put on hold for a couple of days. It took some doing – I called in a favor. A team of archaeological students from Sussex University has been excavating in the area for over a year. It doesn’t hurt that Sussex is my alma mater – in fact the current president of the university and I were fraternity brothers there. I don’t know if your schedule permits a quick trip but I thought you would want to know regardless.”

  The President had to see this for himself. “I’m really glad you called me, Mr. Ambassador. I’m truly fascinated by what I’ve heard from you today. I took a look at my calendar while we were talking – I can be there day after tomorrow. How do you suggest we arrange things logistically?”

  “I was thinking that through, sir. If you don’t mind flying under the radar, so to speak, I think it would be better to avoid publicity and questions both here and in the USA. If you can fly to Palenque I’ll meet you and escort you by private car to the ruins; it’ll take less than a half hour to get there. Then we can visit the discovery site itself. Will you spend the night?”

  “I’ll be there early on Thursday morning and I’ll need to do it all in one day. It’s a lot easier that way anyway. I’ll have my assistant call with all the details in the morning and we’ll bring the Gulfstream if the Palenque airport’s big enough.”

  “Given your circumstances I certainly understand that it’s easier to go back instead of staying, Mr. President. And the airport can accommodate a Gulfstream. I’ll wait for the call tomorrow and I’ll be at the airport in Palenque Thursday when you arrive. There’s not much at the airport so don’t be surprised at how basic things are.” The conversation was ended.

  John Chapman sat back in his chair, hands entwined behind his head. He reflected on the good fortune he had in being who he was. He could be first at anything he wanted and this time he was going to be one of the first to see what undoubtedly would be the most extraordinary discovery he had ever come across. He pressed a button; within seconds a door opened and his appointments secretary came into the room.

  “Sit down, Nancy. I need to change my plans for the day after tomorrow.”

  She glanced at an iPad in her lap. “But sir, the Prime Minister of Israel is set…”

  His response was curt. “I don’t care. Cancel everything and book what I tell you.”

  Chapter Two

  Two hours later John Chapman’s appointments secretary had completed the change in plans the President had outlined and she had passed details about the upcoming trip both to his personal secretary and the head of security. Her part was over – a Gulfstream G650 jet would be standing by to take Chapman and two Secret Service agents to Palenque. Everyone knew times and places, enough for the pilot to file a flight plan. It wasn’t the large plane Chapman norma
lly used; this one was small and unobtrusive – exactly what was needed for this particular trip.

  His calendar, previously full of appointments on Thursday, now only showed the words “personal time” to anyone who was high enough in the organization to access it. And his public calendar, the one that was posted online for the world to see, still showed a full, normal day, with one Senator, school group or awards ceremony after another parading through the President’s office and taking up his time. Only a handful, those who knew Chapman’s real plans, was aware these meetings were all fictitious.

  Personal secretary Bridget Malone looked at the itinerary the appointments secretary had emailed. In large letters at the top were the words “TOP SECRET.” She read through it and shook her head. He’s off on another of his wild goose chases, she thought. As busy as he is, why he makes time for this stuff is beyond me. But she also had known Chapman for a long time – she had been part of his staff for nearly twenty years and if she knew anything about him, she knew how passionate he was about ancient things. He had been on expeditions to a remote area of Turkey to view a ruined city perhaps ten thousand years old; he had crawled headfirst down a very narrow passage in a Bolivian pyramid to see a previously undiscovered tomb; he had sat atop a temple in a Guatemalan jungle at midnight to experience the solitude.

  John Chapman had a burning desire for adventure. He had little time to read for pleasure anymore but when he did he invariably picked up books asking who built the Sphinx or why the Nazca lines were created thousands of years ago, visible only from the air. He thrived on enigmas. He read about ancient aliens. He devoured books about how old mankind might actually be. And all of his reading material was in hard copy format – he eschewed Kindles, preferring a book you could hold in your hands.

  Bridget knew what he read because his account at Amazon.com was in her name with shipments delivered to a post office box a few miles from the White House. Once his orders cleared the White House mailroom and were scanned by the Secret Service they were brought unopened to her. It was best that way. People might find it unusual that the United States President was interested in strange, weird subjects. The books never stayed in Chapman’s office where others might see them. They went straight to his bedroom bookcase. And so around the office it was a poorly kept secret that John Chapman was an adventurer, a man who probably should have been born as an explorer a hundred years earlier, a man who would drop even the most important appointment to travel two thousand miles to see a discovery. She had no idea this adventure would be different. Less than forty-eight hours remained for what was up to now John Chapman’s normal existence.