"It is time for mankind to unite and become stewards of this Earth and universe again, and to show our gratitude, not just speak of it. And we must do it soon, before life as we know it perishes because the Creator or creators have given up on us."

"But what does that have to do with me?"

"I don't know if you have knowledge of our ancient ways. So I'll tell you what you need to know. Life is because of the gods, they sacrificed themselves for humanity. It's a never-ending debt that we must pay back. Not since the days of my people has man shown his appreciation, his true thankfulness. Today, prayer is only empty words. We lived and practiced our gratefulness. When we went to war we didn't enter battle with the intent to kill. We took captives to pay the blood debt."

Seneca shuddered as she recalled the sight of the terrifying wall of skulls.

"On the battlefield the vanquished enemy submitted willingly. It was an honor to give themselves to the gods. In that manner, they perpetuated life. Everything-crops, rain, animals, stars, the moon, the sun, people-depends on keeping the universe in balance, which is accomplished by gratifying the gods. And so now we come to you. You were delivered to me. At first I didn't see. I only knew that you were the enemy. I lost sight of the old traditions and mistakenly sought to do away with you. But then came the revelation. I, who thought the old ways so important, had abandoned the basic principle of battling the enemy. Ours were ritual wars. Flower wars."

Suddenly Seneca understood why Scarrow had called her Sweet Flower. She was the captive enemy. He was going to sacrifice her all right-a sacrifice to his gods. "You mustn't do this."

"You will be rewarded in the next life. And until then you will be treated as royalty. You should be so honored to be the first, to begin the new era of peace."

Seneca rose to her feet and felt the blood rush from her head, leaving her swaying and her vision blurring.

"There is nowhere for you to go. Accept your destiny. Find pride in it."

She turned her back on Scarrow and ran to the door, finding it difficult not to stumble. She pushed it open and nearly fell, but Carlos caught her as she staggered through. Once she was stable, he led her away. Seneca glanced over her shoulder back through the haze. The Emperor Montezuma sat undisturbed and majestically regal on his throne.

Carlos nudged her along the hallway and up the stairs to her guestroom. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

She saw the full decanter on the nightstand.

"There is more water on the stand. You will need it to renew your strength."

"No. I don't want it."

"Drink or we'll have to resort to harsher means. It's less potent when you take the liquid. I think that's what you would prefer." He poured the water in the glass and gave it to her.

Seneca's gut instinct was to knock the water out of his hand and flee through the open door. But she knew she would never get outside the walls of Azteca before she was either captured or killed. She needed to stay alive until Al could come for her.

Reluctantly, she took the glass and drank. Dazed and traumatized, she dropped on the bed and listened to the door close.

When Seneca awoke she rolled to her side and turned on the bedside light, then looked at her watch. It was just after midnight. How in the hell was she going to get out of here? When and where did Scarrow plan to kill her? Someone had brought a tray of foodsteak, lobster, and fresh steamed vegetables. Even a glass of wine. Though she was hungry, she was afraid to eat in case the food was drugged like the water. The effects of the earlier dose were still making her thoughts disjointed.

She longed for a shower, but that, too, was out of the question. If rescuers were on the way, she wanted to be ready, not soaking wet in the shower.

A faint knock on the door made her look up. She heard the buzz of the electronic lock followed by the door opening. Standing in the doorway was a figure clothed in surgical scrubs, mask, and gloves.

THE THEORY 2012, MIAMI.

"So WHAT'S YOUR THEORY?" Al could see a handful of sailboats on Biscayne Bay from Seneca's apartment as he stood in the kitchen and gazed out the sliding glass balcony doors.

From his Mexico City hotel room twelve hundred miles away, Matt said, "Remember when Seneca and I were in Paris talking to you on speakerphone discussing the motives for stealing the burial remains? You said that if they'd found a way to bring these mass murderers back to life-that would be a completely different situation?"

"Okay, I recall something like that. What of it?"

"That's my theory."

"Matt, I've grown to like you a lot. And I really appreciate how you've been there to protect my daughter. But I think you've been hitting the tequila a little too hard right now."

"I don't blame you for thinking I'm losing it. I know your comment back then was flippant, but stay with me for a second." Matt switched his cell to his other ear. "One of the things we keep asking ourselves is what anyone would want with a bunch of old bones. The question we really should be asking is what can someone do with those bones? More specific is what do the bones have that someone would want?"

"Like what?"

"DNA." Matt proceeded to go over the info Dr. Domingo had given him. "The one thing that all these missing remains have is they belonged to some bad-ass folks who were really into killing people. As a matter of fact, what they all had in common was a passion for killing. I think somebody wants their DNA for exactly that reason. I know it's a little fuzzy and needs some work, but my theory is that whoever is stealing the remains is retrieving the DNA from the bones and either performing some advanced scientific research, or possibly they've found a way to use the DNA to influence the behavior of others, or maybe even create a new human from their remains while maintaining and fostering their taste for killing."

"Why go to the trouble to get DNA from dead people if they're going to use it on others? Prisons are filled with killers. Getting a sample of their DNA would be easy. I don't see how your idea is possible. If you're suggesting human cloning, it's prohibited."

"Not exactly. It's in the courts all the time. Especially therapeutic cloning. Right now in the US, federal money can't be used to fund it. But there are private institutions that can do more, and there are parts of the world that don't have any restrictions or at least less stringent ones."

"I think you have an interesting premise but pretty farfetched. Plus, it would take highly advanced science and buckets of money." "And do we know anyone with buckets of cash?"

"Well, yeah, I mean Groves certainly would be one of the few able to underwrite something like human cloning. But, Matt, the bigger question is, why. After all, this guy is a phantom. The last thing he wants is attention. You can bet he's not out to get a Nobel Prize or anything that would place him in the limelight. I think there are too many variables with your theory."

"Okay, I'll grant you that. I told you it needs work. But what about this New Age guru, Javier Scarrow? He's got access to Groves's fortune."

"What about him? From what I've caught on the news, he's preaching universal love, tree hugging, and flower power. A latent hippie." Al heard Matt give out a sigh.

"You're probably right. It's the only premise I could come up with, even if it is farfetched."

"I admit the whole thing has got me baffled, too. But the important issue we're faced with right now is to find Seneca and get her home safe."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've got my buddies at ILIAD working on getting more info out of the Bahamas. And the investigation of the abduction at the hospital is proceeding. They're treating it as a kidnapping. I hope to hear back from someone soon. I've been sitting here studying the list of Groves Consortium global holdings that ILIAD emailed me. It's endless. Since the turn of the last century, Groves has bought and sold over a thousand companies. Total profits since the consortium was established are estimated to be over a trillion dollars. They've invested in just about every type of venture you can imagine."

"I think we've beaten this horse long enough. I'm going to book a flight back to Miami for in the morning. Is there anything you want me to do while I'm still here?"

Al had highlighted a few names of properties on the consortium's holdings list. Most were multibillion-dollar companies that spanned the full spectrum of industry from science to manufacturing to military. But there was one in particular that caught his attention. One that didn't seem to belong.

"Actually, there is something you can check tomorrow before you leave."

"Name it."

"Do you like tacos?"

MIDNIGHT VISIT 2012, BAHAMAS.

SENECA WATCHED THE MAN silhouetted in the doorway. He was tall and thin, but a surgical mask and cap hid his face and hair. He wore Latex gloves and medical booties. Stepping into the room, he closed the door.

"What do you want?" Her words were slurred from the effects of the drug. Why had they sent a surgeon?

"Seneca Hunt?" His voice sounded raspy.

She felt her muscles tense, ready to defend herself. But she doubted she could even stand.

"I'm the one who called you."

Seneca swung her legs over the side of the bed. "What?"

He put a finger to his lips. "Speak softly."

"What are you talking about? What call?"

"El Jaguar."

She rubbed her face still trying to clear her head. "That was you?"

Like an old phonograph record played too slowly, he sang and hummed in a whisper, "In the jungle, hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm, the Jaguar sleeps tonight."

"I don't understand. You work for Scarrow but you called me about Professor Flores?"

"About the veil."

"It has something to do with the tomb robberies, doesn't it?"

The man gave a tormented sigh.

"Are you a doctor?"

He tried to laugh but it quickly turned into a coughing and choking combination, and it took him a while to recover.

As Seneca sat on the side of the bed watching him, she realized that the drug came at her in waves. One minute she was nearly clear-headed, while a few moments later the room tilted and she fought to organize her thoughts. "You've got to help me get out of here. Please contact my father and tell him-"

"Too late."

Seneca thought he sounded apologetic-almost as if he regretted saying the words. She leaned forward as another wave of dizziness washed over her.

"Did Javier tell you his age?"

She nodded "Believe him?"

She remembered Scarrow claiming he was Montezuma. But the drug played with her mind. Seneca closed her eyes and concentrated. "Please, just help me get out of here. He's going to kill me." Her throat tightened. "I don't want to die."

"The veil gave Javier eternal life." He took a few steps in her direction but stopped, almost as if he had second thoughts of getting too close. "And me."

"You mean the Veil of Veronica?"

"I accidently touched it to my face one-hundred-thirty-six years ago. And I'm still alive. But this isn't living. This is Hell." He pulled his mask down and let it hang below his chin.

"Who are you?"

"Just an old cowboy."

THE LAST DEAL 2012, BAHAMAS.

SENECA GRIPPED THE EDGE of the nightstand staring at the man in surgical scrubs. "Tell me your name."

"William ... no, Billy Groves."

The billionaire industrialist? That was hard to believe. He appeared drained of life-gaunt and pale, and he reminded her of a figure made of wax. And yet, since their discussion began, she noticed that his voice grew ever stronger, his posture seemed a little straighter, and his eyes took on a faint glow replacing the emptiness.

"Mr. Groves, I want to believe you. And I think I did believe Scarrow, at least at the time, but you have to understand that what you're telling me is hard to get my head around. For me, at least, it's impossible to comprehend immortality. We're all faced with the inevitable fact that death will come someday. Thinking otherwise isn't rational."

"You can believe what you want. Would you like to see the marks where an Apache arrow ran me through from front to back, and where a gunslinger's .44 hit me in the gut. The scars are still there from wounds that should have killed me."

"I've always read that you were a recluse, that you avoid direct contact with others. So why are you here with me, a total stranger?"

"In the beginning, it was all about hiding my identity. Later, after I had a few bouts with some serious illnesses, I started avoiding contact with others. Even though disease can't kill me, I don't want to spend the rest of my life sick from some shit I caught screwing some whore. Then Javier came along. Said he was going to make me a god. Turns out all he wanted was my money and my power. And I don't want to be his kind of god. He got his doctors to prescribe medicines they said protected me from infections. That was bullshit. He managed to systematically isolate me from the world whether I wanted it or not."

Groves gestured to the room. "Like this prison. But I finally outsmarted him. I haven't taken those meds for a long time. That's why I can snoop around this place at night. He knows it-sees me on the surveillance "Then he knows you're here and what you're saying."

"Nope. No audio, just video. He thinks I'm not in my right mind, so he doesn't care if I rattle around. I've gotten real good at acting crazy. Crazy like a fox. As far as being here with you, you're the only one who doesn't work for Javier. Everybody here is either one of his minions or the freaks he calls his apostles. Then he's got a bunch of followers he likes to call his disciples. You're the only one that I figured has no reason to betray me."

"Mr. Groves-"

"Billy." His lips showed a slight smile. "I'm starting to like you, Seneca Hunt."

"Okay, Billy." Seneca tried to stand but changed her mind as her head swam. "What's really going on here? Why are they stealing the bones of those people? Those mass murderers?"

"You think immortality is hard to grasp. What Javier is creating is diabolical, evil. He's Dr. Frankenstein."

"I still don't understand. What did you mean by the freaks he calls his apostles?"

"They're the ones he's brought to life from the stolen remains."

"That's impossible."

"I've seen them. Even met a few. Ever heard of Bloody Mary, the Queen of England? Ran into her the other night. Nice lady if you don't mind her penchant for burning folks at the stake. And somewhere around here is that Nazi bastard, Dr. Mengele, except he looks just like the president of Russia. It's a fucking three-ring circus.

"The woman who brought me here. Ilse. Is she one of the apostles?"

"Yep. Ilse Koch. She's a sicko."

"Was there a black apostle?"

"Scarrow hit the ceiling when he found out you killed Idi Amin. You caused him quite a setback. He thrives on perfection, and you upset his applecart. Then for some reason, he had a change of heart and decided it would be appropriate to make you his first sacrifice. Be afraid of him. He doesn't think like normal folks."

Seneca's hands turned clammy.

Groves moved a few steps closer. "He's got this grand plan to save the world and return it to the way it was five hundred years ago. He claims he can realign the cosmos to appease his ancient gods."

"What he preaches doesn't sound so menacing."

"Think again. To get what he wants, he's letting his apostles loose into the world to cut out the hearts of thousands of innocent victims-what does he call them-xochimiqui."

It was the word Scarrow had said to her when they met. Sweet flower, xochimiqui. Without thinking, Seneca ran her fingertips down her chest between her breasts, becoming acutely aware of her heart beating just below the breastbone. She pushed herself up onto her feet, but her legs felt like paper, her head like a bobble.