The following is an excerpt from the Mike Scott thriller Heart of the Maya.  

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This sacrifice would be different. The king said Red Bird was to drown in the Holy Cenote. Red Bird himself had offered his share of offerings into the Holy Cenote. He knew the process.

Once all was prepared, the priests would come and tie him to a board. They would drape him with flowers and lead a procession toward the Holy Cenote. Feathered Warrior would even be there as well to participate in the ceremony, making it that much more special. He would tell the elite who attended that the gods themselves had ordered this sacrifice.

Red Bird wondered why the gods hadn’t told him that directly as he was lifted into the air for the march through the streets. He could smell the tallow burning all around him and he could hear the sounds of the incantations, but the potion clouded his mind, blending them together.

Was this really ordained, or was Feathered Warrior just jealous and eliminating competition?

At the water’s edge, Red Bird’s eyes began to focus. As he expected, Feathered Warrior was there and he was speaking, commanding his people to obey and commanding nature to accept the offering. It was obvious to Red Bird, if no one else present, that the king was as afraid of the people as he was afraid of the elements and the gods. The clarity that came from the potion showed Red Bird that his former king, and friend, hoped this sacrifice would discourage the leading warriors and priests from rising up against him.

With a suddenness that caught Red Bird off guard, he was lifted into the air and then he felt his body falling. His arms were bound behind him, but his feet were free. His eyes were open as he fell.

Hitting the water was startling for Red Bird. He had never been in water over his head before. He didn’t know how to swim and had no idea how long it would take for him to die. Red Bird noticed the water was warm and it felt good surrounding him. He felt at peace and at ease.

As he sank, his mouth closed and he held his breath, something it hadn’t occurred to him to do before. Red Bird opened his eyes and looked upward. He could see the light from above and could just make out the bodies of the priests, warriors and the king standing around the edge of the cenote, watching him disappear.

Red Bird didn’t know what happened when a living man was thrown in the Holy Cenote and he guessed no one else did either. He knew in his mind that the gods were there waiting on the sacrifice and would take the body away. He simply hoped it would be one of the kind and benevolent gods, not the violent and terrible ones. He hoped the gods would come quickly, ending his suffering.

The opening to the cenote seemed to move further and further away. Red Bird wondered if he was already dead and moving toward the nether world with the gods.

Red Bird’s body began to scream at him through the potion-induced haze. He needed air and he needed to breathe. He realized he wasn’t in the realm of the gods yet. He felt a fire in his chest and his vision turned red. He pulled on the ropes binding his hands and realized they were loosening. He knew, without thinking about what it might mean, that he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to be a sacrifice to the gods. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if all of the men he had put to death felt the same way.

It didn’t matter what he wanted, though. The gods would surely come for him to receive their sacrifice. Another pull and twist and suddenly Red Bird’s hands were free. His mind was starting to rage and his lungs felt like they were going to explode. Red Bird expected to burst into flames at any second.

The opening to the sky and the light where the king stood and ordered Red Bird cast into the water grew smaller and smaller as the water pulled him down. And then Red Bird noticed another light ahead of him. It began to grow larger.

The gods must be there. That is the opening to the underworld and the gods will receive me there as the sacrifice. Wanting the pain in his chest to end, Red Bird began to pull toward the light. He didn’t know how to swim, but he reached out with both hands and pulled at the water. His head began to grow light. He was sure it was the gods pulling him in. He relaxed knowing the pain would be no more in just a moment. He found his arms couldn’t move anymore; they were heavy. The light grew larger and Red Bird closed his eyes as he drifted toward the light.

The sacrifice was complete.

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Get your copy of Heart of the Maya today, in softcover or Kindle. It is also part of the Mike Scott Boxed Set that includes the first five novels and two short stories.

The following is an excerpt from the Mike Scott thriller Heart of the Maya.  

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“How do you want to handle this?” Rich asked.

“Let’s take it easy. I only have a couple of goals for this dive. I want to take a look at that tablet Erick found. We’ll clean it off and photograph it. And then I want to see if we can figure out where those old drag marks came from and see if we can tell what came out of there. Lastly, I want to make it back to the surface alive,” Mike said, without humor.

“Roger that. I’ll be your wingman on this one. You just direct me where you want to go,” Rich agreed.

“I really don’t expect to be underwater too long, probably 15 or 20 minutes at the most. And we have a maximum of 100 feet, right?”

“That’s right. We’ve each got a little more than 100 feet of air hose. I could get more if you want, though,” Rich said.

“No, let’s keep it simple. If the cave system goes on further than that, we’ll leave that up to the professional cave explorers. We’d need a lot more equipment and support if we were going to do that,” Mike said.

After a quick safety check of their equipment, Mike and Rich zipped up their DUI drysuits to protect them from the cool, spring-fed cave water and donned their facemasks. They confirmed they could hear each other and that Sophia could hear them as well. The moved to the far side of the pool of water and did their best to enter the water as gently as they could. They didn’t want to stir up the sediment. There was no water flow and they had no way of knowing how long it would take the water to clear again if they stirred up a silt cloud. As soon as both men were floating on the surface of the water they agreed to submerge. Mike was carrying Rich’s camera in the underwater housing and both men were carrying dive lights and backups as well.

The communications gear they were using made both divers sound as if they were talking inside of a tin can and they had to listen to each other inhale and exhale, but at least they could hear each other.

“This water looks great, Rich. It’s like the freshwater springs in Florida,” Mike said. “A bit colder, though.”

“You’re right about that. It’s like swimming in air. One difference. Remember, there’s no current. Keep your fins up off the bottom,” Rich said.

“No doubt about that. Okay, come around me and let’s look at the tablet first. I want to get a couple photographs of you cleaning it off and then I’ll take some close ups of it.”

Rich was much more comfortable diving in close, confined spaces like this and accomplishing a task. He did it every day. He easily moved around behind Mike and approached the outline of the submerged tablet where it rested just a few feet below the water. Mike marveled at the man’s ability to glide through the water, barely appearing to move a muscle. Using a gloved hand, Rich pushed the accumulated silt off of the flat rock, being as careful as he could. He traced the outline of the mostly-square rock and then spent a little more time cleaning sediment out of the grooves carved into the stone.

“Mike I see a problem already. I can tell that this has been carved, but it looks like someone hit it with a hammer a few times. Some of the symbols are messed up.”

“Can you tell if the damage is ancient, or it’s been done more recently?”

“Just a guess, but I would say more recently. The grooves from the original carvings are pretty smooth, like they’ve been underwater for a long, long time. But when I run my fingers across where it looks like it was hit, the edges are a lot sharper.”

“Someone tried to destroy it, or at least hide what it said. That tells me something is going on here.”

“I wish I could see what you guys are seeing,” Sophia said, startling both divers.

“Hey there kid. How’re you doing up there? I almost forgot about you,” Mike said.

“I’m fine. It’s a little creepy up here all by myself, but I’m okay.”

“Hang tight. We won’t be too much longer,” Mike said. “Rich, if you have it cleaned off, let me move in there and get some close ups. We might be able to tell something from the symbols that are left undamaged.”

Rich backed away from the stone tablet and Mike moved in, photographing as he went. When he got close enough, he filled the camera frame with the tablet and took a few more images. Then he moved in even closer, thankful that the camera had a built-in close up feature, and took photographs of individual carvings as well.

“Now what?” Rich asked when Mike appeared to be finished.

“Let’s follow the path of the drag marks.”

“Roger that.”

Just a few feet away, both men could easily see where two parallel mounds led down deeper into the submerged cave with an unnaturally flat spot between them.

“Put your hand in the middle of the mounds. I want to get some scale,” Mike directed his old friend.

“Got it. Looks like it was about a foot wide,” Rich said. “And pretty heavy, too.”

“I agree. Whoever did it probably wrapped a rope around it and just pulled it up to the surface,” Mike said.

Rich was slightly ahead of Mike as they followed their lights deeper into the cave when he suddenly stopped.

“What is it?”

“I found the end of the road,” Rich said. “The trail stops here.”

“Okay. Let me come around you,” Mike said.

“That’s good because you’re almost out of hose up here,” Sophia said.

“Roger that. We’re only about 25 feet underwater, but we’ve moved horizontally back inside the cave,” Rich said.

The two men hovered just above the bottom, barely breathing as they stared at the end of the line. They could clearly see where something used to sit, but it was long gone now.

“There is sediment built up on three sides. Whatever it was sat here for a long time,” Mike said. “Maybe a statue or a carving of some sort.”

“Someone discovered it and decided they wanted it for themselves,” Rich agreed.

“I’m betting that tablet at the surface was some clue it was back here. Whoever took it didn’t want anyone else to know what was down here. They couldn’t pull it out so they tried to destroy it,” Mike said.

“You think Erick was on to it? And someone decided they wanted it more than they wanted him to find it?” Rich asked.

“Sounds like a pretty reasonable explanation to me.”

“But who?”

“If we knew the answer to that, we’d probably know who killed Erick in the first place,” Mike said.

“No doubt in my mind that Erick was killed now,” Rich said.

“Mine either,” Mike said. “Let me get a few more photographs and then let’s get out of here.”

Mike covered the entire scene, thinking like a crime scene photographer instead of a photojournalist at the moment. He did his best to capture minute details and anything out of the ordinary, rather than worrying about telling a complete story with the photographs.

“All right. That’ll do it. Sophia, we’re coming up. Pull on the air hoses so they don’t get tangled.”

Both men were quiet for a moment, expecting the young girl to answer them, but they were met with silence.

“Sophia, are you there?”

Still nothing.

“Do you think she got scared and went outside?” Rich asked.

“I doubt it, Rich. She would want to be there when we got out. Let’s get to the surface.”

“I’ve got some more bad news for you,” Rich said. “We’re running out of air.”

“How could that be? We haven’t been down here that long,” Mike said.

“It’s getting harder to inhale. We’ve still got some air left in the hose, but there isn’t as much pressure behind it. Let’s get out of here,” Rich said, his voice eerily calm in the face of an emergency.

###

 

Get your copy of Heart of the Maya today, in softcover or Kindle. It is also part of the Mike Scott Boxed Set that includes the first five novels and two short stories.

The following is an excerpt from the Mike Scott thriller Wreck of the Huron. 

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In their tight confines, Mike held Sarah around the waist to keep her steady while she prepared to push her scuba gear over her head into the opening. She wrapped her leg around his while she got everything into position. For a moment, Mike’s mind wandered again, but this time he was thinking about something more immediate — the feel of her skin on his. Sarah must have sensed his thoughts because this time she looked him in the eyes again. She was still smiling, but this time there was a different expression on her face. She squeezed his arm tightly and nodded.

After a moment, she released her grip and began looking upward again. She pushed her gear ahead of her with one hand and her dive light in the other. Mike watched as Sarah’s scuba cylinder and buoyancy jacket slipped through the hole, followed by her head and then her shoulders. In a moment, she was completely out of sight.

It must go up further than it looked, Mike thought to himself. He sat still, waiting and watching for what felt like 10 minutes, but was probably no more than a few seconds. Then, Sarah’s head reappeared back down through the hole. She motioned for him to come up.

Mike repeated the steps Sarah had just gone through. He unbuckled the buoyancy jacket that kept the scuba gear and air cylinder in place and then bundled it all together in tight package. He kept the regulator in his mouth and turned the scuba unit upside down. To give him the most room to move around the top of the unit had to stay close to his face. He pushed the bottom end of the cylinder through the hole first and then began swimming up after it.

The hole had been a tight fit for Sarah. Mike knew it was going to be tougher for him to fit his broad shoulders through the space into the cave above. Mike just hoped it opened up quickly once he was through the hole. Keeping his arms above his head helped him narrow his profile slightly. He felt the rocks scrape against his arms and shoulders. Mike was afraid he was going to get stuck for a moment until he felt Sarah grab his arm and pull him through the sticking point. With that, he was in the cave. It was only in his imagination, but he almost thought he heard a pop when he cleared the narrow opening.

Mike quickly realized he was seated on a rock in three feet of water. His head had broken the water’s surface. Sarah was standing up. She had taken her regulator out of her mouth and was taking off her fins.

“Are you nuts?” Mike shouted. “The air might not be safe to breathe!”

“You’re breathing it now, too,” Sarah replied, her eyes dancing.

“Only after I saw you doing it,” Mike grumbled.

“I knew you were right behind me. If I passed out, you could get me out of here,” Sarah reasoned. “One of us had to test it.”

“Fine. But next time at least let me get through the hole first,” Mike said.

“Sure. Next time you and I wiggle into an air-filled sea cave, I’ll let you be the one to test the air,” Sarah laughed.

“You better,” Mike said smiling.

“If you’re finished being grumpy, take a look around.”

“Pffft.” Mike snorted, but he did shine his light toward the ceiling of the cave. It was much higher than he expected, rising at least 15 feet over the water level. It was larger than he expected, too. Toward the back of the cave, he could see what looked like an opening into another room. The floor was mostly flat, almost worn smooth.

He turned to face the front of the cave, where it should have been open to the outside. What he saw confirmed that the once-open cave had definitely been closed off. He had no way of knowing if it was closed intentionally, or if it was a natural rock slide, but the opening was filled with rocks and other rubble.

Sarah pulled herself out of the water and laid her gear beside the opening to the pool. Mike pushed his dive gear toward her and she lifted it out too. Mike climbed out beside it. The air inside the cave was cool, but neither of them was uncomfortable even though they were dripping wet.

“Let’s take a quick look around, but we can’t stay in here too long. The guys outside will freak out,” Mike said.

“Agreed,” Sarah said, already in motion with her light pointed at the ceiling. “Look at this. Are these cave paintings?”

“I’ve read about pre-Columbian paintings in some caves in this area,” Mike said. “They looked similar to these. The ones I read about were only discovered after the beginning of the 20^th century, though.”

“That could mean this cave was closed off before then. When did you say the Huron wrecked again?” Sarah asked.

“It went down in 1877. I know what you’re thinking and it makes sense. If the cave was where the Huron was headed but never made it, maybe they closed it off,” Mike agreed. “I wish I had brought my camera along.”

“We didn’t quite know we were going to go cave exploring today, after a quick dive and cave penetration,” Sarah said with a smirk.

“It never occurred to me to grab my underwater housing for my camera gear,” Mike agreed. “We’ll have to come back later.”

They looked around the small cave room but saw nothing else of significance. The walls looked like they had been eroded over time, making them nearly smooth. The roof of the cave was egg-shaped with the fat, rounder part of the egg ending in the water.

“Do you want to check out the next room?” Sarah asked, gesturing toward the small opening near the floor.

Mike shined his light at the opening for the first time. It was nearly three feet high and rounded. But Mike immediately realized there was a problem. The hole was blocked.

“We’re not going through that way,” he said.

“Why not? Oh. I couldn’t see that before,” Sarah said as she moved closer.

Two feet inside the opening there was a flat wall. Sarah kneeled down and touched it. It was cool to the touch. Iron. It was a man-made plate of some kind.

“Does it move?” Mike asked as he kneeled down beside Sarah.

She pushed with one hand, and then with two, but the iron plate didn’t move at all.

“Let me try,” Mike said. He dropped onto his stomach so he could get a better angle to push with both hands. Nothing. He turned around and pushed with his feet. Still nothing. Mike kicked it, but all they heard was a hollow ringing sound.

“Just like a man, always going for brute force,” Sarah said with a chuckle.

“Checking to see if it’s rusted shut. Who knows, maybe I can break it free,” Mike said, but after Sarah’s teasing, he didn’t kick the plate again.

“Come here and look at this,” Sarah said, shining her light at the cold metal. “It almost looks like a key slot on this side.”

###

Get your copy of Wreck of the Huron today, in softcover or Kindle. It is also part of the Mike Scott Boxed Set that includes the first five novels and two short stories.

The following is an excerpt from the Mike Scott thriller Wreck of the Huron. 

###

Spray from the storm and the darkness of the night made it impossible to see more than a few feet for the men on the midnight watch. The Huron’s engines continued to plow through the heavy surf and the sails still aloft were about one third filled with gale winds as they made their way down the coast. It was slow going, but the stout ship battered its way past North Carolina.

At 1 o’clock, Master French, the midnight watch officer ordered the ship to heave to for a moment to check the depth under the keel and confirm their location. Within moments the crew reported 10 fathoms and French duly relayed the number to Commander Ryan who was standing at the door to the bridge.

“Thank you, French,” Ryan said.

“Why don’t you get some rest, sir?” French asked.

“Once we clear this storm I will, French. Not yet, though. This area is treacherous.”

“Very well, sir,” French said. He knew the commander was simply keeping watch on his ship, not doubting French’s abilities. With that acknowledgement, French turned to the helmsman and ordered the Huron into motion.

“Let’s get her moving again Mr. Denig. Four bells to the engine room, please. I want to pull through these seas,” French ordered.

“Helmsman, let her come off a point on the helm. I’d like to get out a bit from the beach just to make sure,” the navigator Lieutenant Palmer ordered.

The matter-of-fact business of the bridge made it all the more surprising when the Huron struck bottom, violently throwing men and loose equipment forward.

“Hard down!” Ryan shouted as he struggled to stand back up after being thrown against the navigator’s table. There was a collective gasp as a wave passed below the ship, lifting it off the bottom for a brief moment, only to be followed by the second crash as the keel landed on the bottom causing her to begin to roll onto her starboard side. The ship was in instant chaos as men shouted and attempted to reach the upper decks, vainly trying to discover what happened.

“Are we aground?”

“What happened?”

“Help me I’m stuck!”

“Get the commander!”

With each wave that passed, the jarring of the hull against the bottom was lessened — only because the ship was run further aground and was lifted less and less.

“Stop the engines!” Ryan ordered from the bridge. “Palmer, find out if we still have steam in the boilers. I want to see if we can back her out of here before the hull gets holed.”

Master French pulled back on the throttle, signaling the engineer to stop the engines. Palmer left his station to yell down the hatch to the engine room below.

“Can you back her, engineer?” Palmer asked.

“We’ve got full steam on all the engines. Yes, we can,” Chief Engineer Loomis replied.

“Make it happen, Mr. Loomis,” Palmer ordered.

“Mr. French, save the ship’s log. We’ve probably foundered on Nags Head. Mr. Palmer, please sound the distress whistle. We’re going to need some help,” Ryan said, taking charge of the bridge. “Get all hands on deck and batten down the hatches. Get those sails lowered.”

Within moments, French reported back to the bridge that the captain’s office where the ship’s log was stored was filled with water, being on the starboard side.

“Very well,” Ryan acknowledged. “Lieutenant Simons, order the fore mast cut away, please. Maybe we can right this ship without the added weight.”

“I will make it happen immediately,” Simons said, leaving across the angled deck to organize the men.  The Huron was over on her side, at about 40 degrees.

Night swallowed the dying ship as the storm tossed wind and waves over the deck. The clouds above obscured any moonlight leaving it pitch black. Lanterns on the ship were extinguished to prevent fire in the heaving wood.

“Mr. Palmer, where are we? I need to know how far from land we are to gauge when help will arrive,” Ryan asked.

“Commander, my charts showed us well off the coast, but one of the men reported two rocks directly ahead of our position. They are saying we are solid on the beach,” Palmer reported.

“Where? Show me, Mr. Palmer.”

Ryan and Palmer ventured forward through the gangway to look past the ship toward what they were just realizing was the beach.

“My God! How did we get in here?” Ryan asked.

“I’m not sure, sir. All of our navigation shows us well out to sea,” Palmer replied.

The men could see the white foam of wind-tossed waves crashing on the beach less than 200 yards away, the thick spray making it hard to see.

“The good thing about this is help should arrive quickly. We may lose the ship, but we shouldn’t lose any lives over this,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “It’s a terrible loss. What time is it, Mr. Palmer?”

“It’s about 2 a.m sir.”

“Tell the men to hang on. Help should be coming soon, but let’s see if we can get some of the men to safety. Lower the cutter and try to get a line to shore to send men across.”

When the Huron went down on her starboard side, the port life boats were tangled in the rigging making them useless. The ship itself crushed the starboard side boats. Within just a few moments, Master Conway reported to the captain the status of the one functioning boat.

“Sir, the cutter is in the water and ready to go. We’ve tied her fast with a line. I would like permission to take her into the shore,” Conway said.

“Go ahead, Conway,” Ryan agreed. “But be careful. The surf is getting rougher.”

“Yes, sir,” Conway agreed. He turned and made his way along the slanted deck calling for volunteers to help him row the small cutter to the shore. He quickly organized five men to help him and they assembled at the railing. Conway reached out for the small craft to bring it in close so the men could board. As he did, a wave broke over the port side of the Huron, knocking men down and throwing the ship further on her side for a moment. Just as quickly as the wave hit, the small cutter swamped and disappeared below the waves.

The tide was coming in and making the sea more dangerous. Water was creeping up the deck as well. When the Huron first went down on her side, the water was at the edge of the railing, but as time went on, the sea climbed higher. Waves continued to batter the ship. Just before sunrise, the men had had too much and the pounding of the waves was not lessening. Men began to be swept from the deck and into the churning black water below them. No help had yet arrived from the lifesaving service on the beach.

“You there,” Conway shouted to a seaman on the deck. “Give me your life preserver. I will try to swim in and get help. “

“I can’t do that Master Conway. I can’t swim!” the man shouted over the waves and out of fear.

“If this keeps up, none of us will make it…” Conway’s reply was drowned out by a blast of ocean wave that broke across the deck, knocking him from the rigging and into the water below.

Conway barely had time to grab a breath before he was plunged into the cold ocean and dragged immediately under the black surface. He was unsure of which way was up, simply struggling against the pressure holding him down. His heart was pounding as adrenaline surged in his veins. Before being tossed into the water he was on the edge of exhaustion — cold and tired from the night’s torment. He knew one thing in his mind, he wasn’t going to die. Or at least not without a fight.

His head broke the surface and he struggled to breathe as he wiped the salt from his face. He tried to get his bearings as a wave crashed on top of him, crushing him back below the surface and tossing him head over heels. He felt his clothes ripped from his body as he continued to tumble. Panic was rising in his mind as his breath ran short. He had to get to the surface, he needed air. He began to fight, and struggle, kicking with every ounce of energy he had left. His head swam from the exertion and lack of air in his lungs. His body ached and his mind grew sluggish.

It didn’t register at first when his knees hit the sand and he realized his head was out of the water. He had been tossed onto the beach by the waves. Men grabbed his arms, lifting him up and dragging his naked body across the sand. Local fishermen carried him to a small hut where he found three other sailors from the Huron.

“Mr. Conway,” one of the sailors reported to the watch officer after the fishermen loaned him some clothes. “The locals tell us there is a lifesaving station about three miles down the beach from here. But, it’s closed for the season and they say they won’t break into it.”

“What of the Commander? Any sign of Commander Ryan or the other officers?” Conway asked.

“None at all, Mr. Conway. I heard they tried to make it to shore, but no one has seen them come up the beach.”

“Very well then, Mr. Young. Take whatever men you can find and break down the doors. Get the mortar and get back here. Men are being swept from the ship and lost. We have to get them help,” Conway replied to the young ensign. “I’ll do what I can from here. I’ll drag the men out of the surf.”

“It’s a miracle you made it through the surf, Mr. Conway. The undertow is so strong,” Young replied.

“If any of the men are at all exhausted, there is no way they will live. Get that lifesaving equipment and get back here as quickly as you can,” Conway said as he started down the beach toward the water’s edge.

The sun was beginning to rise over the water by the time the men made it back to the wreck site with the lifesaving mortar, designed to fire a safety line with a grappling hook from the beach to the ship. Any men still on board could have used a harness and made their way to safety. The men never fired the mortar, though. No one was left on board alive.

###

Get your copy of Wreck of the Huron today, in softcover or Kindle. It is also part of the Mike Scott Boxed Set that includes the first five novels and two short stories.