"Much obliged, son." Groves reached into his pocket, removed two dollars and gave it to the bellboy. Alone inside the elevator, he opened the envelope and read the single sheet. The message was from the manager of Ashland Coal and Coke. Sorry to inform you Mr. Black has met an untimely demise. Stop. Sheriff suspects foul play. Stop. Will mail PL statement to your office. Stop.

He folded the telegram and placed it in his coat pocket. Getting off at the eighth floor, he was walking down the hallway when he heard muffled steps coming from behind on the thick carpet.

"You, sir, are a charlatan."

Groves turned to see Mr. Black standing a few paces behind. "I beg your pardon."

"A man who disguises his identity is a fraud." Black came closer. "I've found you out. You're an impostor."

"I think you've had too much to drink." Groves started to turn away. Black was on the right track, but a little confused. He was William Groves. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"So you don't mind me informing your company that you are not William Groves but an impostor?"

"That's ridiculous. Why would you make such a claim?"

"I saw your ... paraphernalia. All the tools of deception you use to disguise yourself."

Groves felt a bubble of fear burst in his chest. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"When you were in West Virginia several months ago. I was the manager at the Kanawha Hotel where you stayed." He bared a toothy grin. "I knew you were a rich man, and I went to your room to pocket a few trinkets that could fetch me a small bankroll." His smile grew larger. "But when I saw all that makeup, those wigs and beards, I knew I had hit the jackpot. There were more dollars to be made than by petty thieving. And here I am. You should be happy that I'm willing to keep your secret."

"If you want to speak of impostors, Mr. Black, perhaps you would be so kind as to explain if you had anything to do with the suspicious death of the real Colin Black."

Black gave him a sly wink. "You got me. What can I say? One imposter to another. So, you know the game."

What kind of fool was this man? Groves thought. This was no game. "What is it you intend to do?"

"That would be your choice."

"Are you attempting to blackmail me, sir?"

"I would prefer to call it an insurance premium."

"And how much is the premium?"

Black lowered his voice. "Why don't we say one hundred thousand dollars?"

Groves studied the man for a moment, perplexed by Black's stupidity and naivete. "Go enjoy the New Year's fireworks, Mr. Black. I'll give you my decision in the morning." He turned and walked away.

Groves peeled off every item of his masquerade. Standing naked in front of the sink, he scrubbed the makeup from his face. Then he strode over to the closet and dressed in a homespun woolen, collarless shirt, a pair of denim pants, and a worn, fringed leather jacket. Propping his black felt hat atop his head, he swiped the brim and took a last look in the mirror. No trace of William Groves, chairman of Groves Consortium remained. There was just Billy Groves the cowboy, who then reached into his luggage and removed a small caliber pistol. Mr. Black was in for a different kind of fireworks.

TONGUE OF THE OCEAN 2012, BAHAMAS.

SCARROW WATCHED ELIZABETH ENTER the water from the dive platform mounted on the stern of the 120-foot Phoenix Explorer. He treaded water nearby waiting for her to work up the courage to swim in the Caribbean Sea at night under a moonless sky. Her previous dives, while training and afterward, had all been with the sun high overhead. Tonight, all that lit the surface was the swath of the Milky Way painted silver across the heavens.

Scarrow always had his yacht's captain kill the floodlights when he did night dives so he could appreciate the mystery and majesty of the ocean. Even after so many wall dives, it still chilled him with fear almost to the point of paralysis-a reaction he rarely felt anymore without extreme activities like this.

"How do you feel?" Scarrow spoke into the ultrasonic transceiver built into his full facemask. The starlight glistened off the neoprene skin of Elizabeth's wetsuit. Even in the dim light, he saw that her eyes were wide with excitement.

"Javier, it's wonderfully frightening. My heart is racing."

"Turn on your lantern." He flipped the switch on his hand-held underwater light.

Elizabeth obeyed, and their two beams took on the appearance of Jedi lightsabers in the inky void.

"Are you ready?" He was going to take her deeper than ever before. Even though they would only be able to stay down for around twelve minutes, it would be worth it.

"I am."

"The bottom here is about fifty feet." He dropped beneath the surface, adjusted his buoyancy, and with smooth, strong leg motions propelled himself into the darkness. Elizabeth's beam let him know she was right behind.

"Look at all the fish." Her light beam reflected off a school of cigar minnows as they darted past.

"Once we get to the bottom, we have only a few hundred feet to swim before we come to the edge. There the floor drops to six thousand feet-a sheer vertical wall. We'll descend to a ledge one hundred twenty feet down from the surface. You must remain alert and attentive to your dive watch and air gauge. We've talked about the symptoms of nitrogen narcosis. It's easy to become overwhelmed with the beauty of the wall and think you can go deeper or even dispense with your regulator."

"I will."

"Enjoy what you are about to see." He pulled a Cyalume light stick from his belt and held it up. "Once we get to the ledge below, I'll break this open. You'll be amazed at the spectacular light show it produces as the chemicals disperse in the water."

"I can't wait, Javier. You have given me a new life with so much to explore. I can't express how grateful I am."

The sandy bottom appeared in Scarrow's beam. He leveled off and waited for Elizabeth to join him. Motioning forward, they glided in tandem above the bottom.

A few moments later, Scarrow heard a gasp from Elizabeth as they reached the edge. The reaction was always the same from anyone he brought here-total shock. Appearing as if a giant knife had sliced away the ocean bottom, the floor below them disappeared. Like two eagles soaring out over a majestic cliff face, they dropped into the abyss known as the Tongue of the Ocean.

Scarrow sat in a chaise lounge watching Elizabeth as she seemed to glide across his master stateroom aboard the Phoenix Explorer.

Elizabeth stood in front of the dresser mirror and slowly opened her white robe, letting it drop to the carpet. She studied herself-the body of a beautiful young woman still glowing and flushed from her hot shower.

He watched as she caressed her breasts, then ran her hands across her flat stomach flaring out over her hips. "I hope you are pleased?"

"I am." She angled sideways and admired her profile. "How could I not be pleased. You have given me a new life and a new body in which to live it."

"If you are satisfied, then so am I."

"I still don't understand what you ask of me. What could I possibly give you that would be worth this ... miracle?"

"You have certain talents, and that is what I seek as payment. You possess the drive and dedication I need to fulfill my ultimate goal-I cannot do it without your help and the assistance of your fellow apostles."

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

"Soon, all will be revealed, Elizabeth. All I ask of you and the others is that you do what you enjoyed so in your previous life."

SACRED FIRE 2012, BAHAMAS.

SCARROW GATHERED HIS CORE group in the conference room of the sprawling Azteca pyramid. Seated around the large, oval, cherry wood table were what he liked to think of as his discipleshis most devoted staff. Each was barefoot and dressed in simple gray robes with a rope belted at the waist. Their attire was in sharp contrast to Scarrow's. He wore an elaborate layered mantle of purple and gold, along with hand-tooled leather sandals, ornate gold bracelets, and other gem-encrusted jewelry.

Suspended on the wall behind him was an imposing replica of the Mexica Sun Stone, the Eagle Bowl-the original recovered during Mexico City's main square excavation in 1790.

Coyotl handed out the agenda while Scarrow gave everyone a few minutes to digest it before calling for their individual departmental reports.

"Dr. Blakely, would you like to go first?"

"Subjects' vitals and general health are all within normal limits. Psychological and environmental indoctrination have shown positive results in developing the desired personality characteristics."

"I thought all that was locked in and predetermined by genetics," Coyotl said. "Isn't that why these specific individuals were chosen as apostles?"

"You're correct to a degree. Genetics plays a strong role," Dr. Blakely said. "But our genetic makeup only predisposes us to express certain behaviors. Environment and experiences also influence the development of personality traits. Our subjects have been limited to only the experiences we have provided. The combination of genetics and our programmed experiences are producing the desired results."

Blakely turned to Scarrow. "As I said, we are seeing evidence of precisely the characteristics you seek. The interesting component is observing the uniqueness or quirkiness of each individual-how they respond to certain stimuli and situations, the levels of impulsivity and aggression. We continue to monitor certain neurochemicals and enzymes, such as serotonin and monoamine oxidase. One interesting fact we have obtained is that all our subjects have the 7-repeat in the DRD4 gene, which in previous studies indicates a propensity for novelty or risk-taking behaviors."

"Repeats?"

"It doesn't matter." Scarrow motioned to Coyotl. "We don't have to understand."

"Sorry, I don't mean to be talking in sciencease," Blakely said. "A repeat is a DNA sequence that, well, simply repeats. That's all it is. It's one of quite a few mutations. If you have the 7-repeat in the DRD4 gene, chances are you are more of a risk taker and exhibit more novelty-seeking behaviors than those with other repeats, other mutations."

"So what is the bottom line in lay terms?"

"Our most current analysis, Javier, indicates that we have successfully combined all the factors necessary to give us the specified results. And on schedule. No delays. We expect all subjects will complete processing within our original timeframe."

"Excellent." Scarrow glanced over the metal brazier sitting in the center of the table. A stainless steel venting hood descended from the ceiling to hang above the brazier, drawing away the swirls of smoke. He felt the heat of the sacred fire, and he thought back to when he had lit this fire in 1960, the night when the gods had finally answered his requests, and he began laying the groundwork for his plan. The time was nearing to light the Eternal Flame again, the 52-year cycle was coming to an end just as the calendars prophesied. All must be in place by the fall equinox, a traditional day of ritual of his people. Then he could be assured that his task would be complete by December 21. His apostles would have dispersed and begun their work of harvesting the hearts of the Sweet Flowers. The gods would be pleased and catastrophe averted.

After several other reports covering fund raising, Phoenix Ministry preparations in various cities, and other business, Scarrow dismissed the group, asking only that Coyotl remain. When it was just the two of them, he said. "Have you taken care of the last witness?"

"Soon. I'm going to Miami right after this meeting."

"How did you find her?"

"Very easily. Once we intercepted her luggage before it left Mexico City, personal items inside helped us establish where she lives. One of our disciples slipped into her apartment to search for any other evidence of the Bernal interview she might have handcarried on the plane. He found nothing, but we decided to listen in on her phone conversations for a few days to see what she told her magazine editor. She has not spoken to him yet, but she had a conversation with a writer about other tomb robberies. She's going down to the Keys to meet with him to discuss it."

"Then we have two potential targets. How do you intend to solve the problem?"

"They have plans for a boat ride. I believe we're going to have the perfect opportunity to make use of our newest technology. The latest Groves Avionics prototype drone is waiting at the Homestead Research Center. We'll use it to eliminate them both. As far as the authorities are concerned, it will be a sanctioned FAA and militaryapproved training exercise. Once the mission is complete, I'll return immediately."

"I caution you to avoid trying to kill a fly with a bazooka. How will this appear as anything other than a brazen attack on innocent victims?"

"It will be seen as a terrible tragedy," Coyotl said. "A horrible malfunction of a new weapon still under development."

"And the aftermath?"

"We predict an investigation and most assuredly a multi-milliondollar wrongful death lawsuit against Groves Avionics. We'll settle out of court, and it will all go away. The price of doing business as you're fond of saying."

"I need you back here to manage the apostles. We can't afford to have you gone too long. Their training and orientation can't be interrupted. You realize this should have been taken care of in Mexico City?" Scarrow's glare was stern. "We must close every door that could possibly allow someone a glimpse into what we are doing, no matter how insignificant it may seem. The world wouldn't understand what we are about to do." With a motion of his hand, he signaled that the discussion was over.

As the two left the conference room, Coyotl said, "By this time tomorrow night I will have shut the last door."

THE LORELEI 2012, FLORIDA KEYS.

SENECA LOWERED THE CONVERTIBLE top on her C70 to feel the sea-scrubbed air whirl around her. The Overseas Highway hadn't changed much since she'd traveled to Key West a few years back to do a piece on Fantasy Fest. The only difference was the conversion of a large portion from two into four lanes. The rest was typical Keys panorama, plenty of motels and hotels, charter boats, restaurants, and gift shops. Despite growth, there were stretches that managed to hold onto a laid-back mystique and slow-moving lifestyle that withstood the rush of the outside world. Like it had been when she was a kid.

When Matt Everhart invited her to come to Islamorada with the promise of a delicious dinner and a starlit boat ride, she declined, not feeling up to going anywhere or doing anything. But after thinking about it for a few days, she finally changed her mind, called him back, and accepted. There was always the outside chance it could lead to an angle for a story that would satisfy her editor, but more importantly let her continue investigating who was responsible for taking Daniel from her. Certain that no one would understand how she could take off for a place like the Keys so soon after losing Dan, she decided not to tell anyone about the overnight trip. This was not a weekend vacation escape, nor was she interested in explaining herself to others. All she knew was that she wasn't going to let her grief keep her from uncovering every stone, pursuing every hint of a possible lead. If she could find who had murdered Daniel, then maybe she would allow herself some selfish time to lie in bed and cry for days on end.

The drive reawakened in her how much she missed being on the water. Seneca scanned the radio stations until she found something that matched the scenery, not her dark mood. The Caribbean music brought back memories of times when she'd come to the Keys as a child with her mother. Good times. Brenda was a free spirit, and Seneca's recollections were of blazing sunsets, thatched tiki bars, fishing trips, and her mother dancing to steel drum music on a moonlit beach.

They had spent a lot of time on the water. Brenda loved the ocean, and once when they lived in a small apartment near the Intracoastal Waterway in Fort Lauderdale, Brenda had saved up enough money to buy a boat. It was an old, rundown, mahogany Chris Craft with a small cabin and aging inboard. But to Brenda and Seneca, it was the Queen Mary. Many evenings they'd cruise into open water around dusk to watch the stars come out. Brenda told endless stories during those boat rides, but sometimes they just sat in silence staring at the heavens and ocean. Seneca supposed that was why she had such a fondness for being on and near the water. For an instant, she wondered how different it would have been to be raised in a family with a mother and father.

"Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw?" Jimmy Buffet's voice filled the car, and the lyrics brought a smile to Seneca's face. God, how long had it been since she felt like smiling. She wished life was just as simple as the song title.

Seneca passed through Key Largo, and just short of a half hour later pulled into the parking lot of the Key Lantern Motel in Islamorada. It was advertised as one of the most reasonably priced motels around-nothing fancy, just clean, friendly, and casual.

After checking into her room, she flipped open her phone, found Matt Everhart's number in her contacts and called.

"There's a wonderful little spot on the Gulf side called the Lorelei," he said after thanking her for coming. "Why don't I pick you up around six? Where are you staying?"

"No, that's okay. I might do a little sightseeing. I'll just meet you there." She didn't want to be stuck with someone she knew little about. If she wanted to call it a night, having her own car made it easy.

"That's fine. You'll know it by the Mermaid sign. Around marker 82. Bayside. Great outdoor dining and live music. I'll get a table on the deck outside." He paused a moment. "Or would you rather eat inside?"

"By the water would be wonderful."

"Just look for a guy wearing a University of Florida shirt. If we're lucky we'll get a real show on the horizon when the sun goes down."

Surprisingly, the Key Lantern was next door to the Lorelei, but Seneca didn't especially want Matt to know where she was staying.

The motel was exactly as advertised-nothing fancy, but clean and comfortable. Maybe she should do a travel piece on it and some of the other budget motels in the area for a little extra income. Her editor didn't mind her doing freelance work for nonscience magazines. She might even get a reduced rate or free stay out of the article. Seneca made a note to speak to the owner before she checked out.

Instead of walking to the restaurant, she drove the short distance. Dressed in a white blouse, ankle-length skirt, and sandals, Seneca stepped onto the Lorelei's open deck portion of the busy restaurant. She scanned the tables, her eyes coming to rest on one with a single occupant wearing a blue UF polo shirt.

He saw her, and she waved.

Matt rose as she approached and outstretched his hand.

"Ms. Hunt?"

She had seen the author's picture on his website before she left her apartment and thought he was nice looking, but he was more than that in person. Appearing to be in his late thirties, he had a shock of thick, nearly black hair, rich coffee-colored eyes, an even, light suede tan on the angular planes of his face, and stood at about six feet or a tad over, she guessed. The UF shirt was tucked into khaki cargo shorts, and he wore a pair of worn boat shoes, maybe Sperry Top-Siders. He was obviously living the Keys lifestyle.

"Call me Seneca."

"You're just in time, Seneca." Matt gestured to the west and the spectacular sunset that was building. "Just enough smathering of clouds to make it interesting. It isn't the most clear days that make the most dramatic sunsets."

She wondered if smathering was a real word or if he just made it up. No matter, it fit perfectly. "You promised, and it looks like you're going to deliver."

"Thanks again for coming. I'm anxious to hear about what happened in Mexico. So far, all I know is what I read on the Internet and the little bit you told me on the phone."

The waiter strode over to take their drink order. Matt spoke up. "Two margaritas on the rocks." He glanced at Seneca. "With salt?"

"Absolutely." She sat back, realizing the calming effect of the ocean and the onset of the vibrant sunset were helping her to slow down and relax. It was nice to be away from the city. Taking a deep breath she began relating the Mexico experience including a description of the tomb. Finally, she said, "Dr. Bernal was my fiance."