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“Of course I do,” Dr. Estrada snapped. Then he paused and looked at Illari with growing horror.
“That’s how I found her,” Roth said. “I needed someone who could translate the ancient languages. She’s really good, as you already know.”
“You’re part of that fringe group?” he asked her, grimacing.
“I’m lost,” Monica said. “Someone please explain this to me.”
It was Lund who offered it. “They want to ‘liberate’ the Western hemisphere from colonizers.”
“Isn’t that what Jacob Calakmul wants?” Monica said.
Lund shook his head. “Nonviolently. Through the democratic processes. They basically want to found a new nation. There’s a name for it, but I can’t remember what it’s called.”
“Cemanahuac,” Dr. Estrada said. “That’s the word the Aztec used to describe their world, their empire, before Cortés. And you’re part of that movement, Illari? I can’t believe it.”
“Why not?” she shot back angrily, brushing more tears away. “You, of all people, have seen the evidence of what was stolen from us. Your own people. There were millions living in Cemanahuac. Millions. And nearly all of them died.” She trembled with emotion. “More than the Holocaust in World War II. More than the Russians under Stalin. Probably more than twenty million.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” Dr. Estrada said. “Smallpox didn’t kill that many.”
“It wasn’t just smallpox,” Illari continued. “I’m talking about the cocoliztli, the fevers. The fevers that have started up again. I told you about the pandemic. It’s all over the dark web. People didn’t care about how many died then. They just wanted the land and the gold. But they’re going to care now when the virus hits them. No immunity.”
“How can it be the same virus?” Dr. Estrada said. “There would be evidence.”
“There is a virus spreading around the world right now,” Monica said calmly. “The CDC and WHO are studying it. But they need time.”
“Why should I help you?” Illari said. “No one helped my people. We didn’t cause this plague. It’s coming from Calakmul. But if it rids this continent of the usurpers—”
“We’re talking about over three hundred million people!” Dr. Estrada exploded.
Guilt flashed across her face, chased by defiance and something Roth couldn’t interpret. “Jacob Calakmul is wrong,” she finally said. “The prophecy isn’t even about him.”
“Do you know who else it might be about?” Roth asked. “The prophecy specifically names Jacob, but you don’t believe it’s about him.”
“No,” Illari said, wiping sweat from her face. “And it makes sense that it’s not. Why would Kukulkán make a prophecy about his brother’s followers? I think it’s about Kukulkán’s return.”
“What are you talking about?” Dr. Estrada said, his brow furrowed.
“A prophecy from the Dresden Codex,” Roth said.
“Show him what was on the blank pages,” Illari said. “Show him.”
Roth pulled out his burner phone and went to the photo gallery. He quickly scrolled to the pictures he’d taken at the SLUB in Dresden, then turned the screen and handed the phone to Estrada.
The professor gazed at it, brow wrinkled in confusion, and started to peruse the glyphs. “Kukulkán, foreigners, repent, house of Jacob, jaguars. Flocks of sheep. Torn to pieces.”
“Show him the translation,” Illari said.
“A few pictures later,” Roth suggested.
Dr. Estrada swiped until he saw Illari’s handwritten translation. Lund walked to the door, lifting his phone to his ear to make a call, and stepped outside into the corridor.
Dr. Estrada read it out loud. “The god Huracán hath commanded that I, the god Kukulkán, should give unto you this land for your inheritance. I say unto you, that if the aliens . . . or foreigners . . . do not repent after the intercession which they shall receive, after they have scattered my people—then shall ye, who are a remnant of the house of Jacob, go forth among them and shall be in the midst of them who shall be numerous; and shall be among them as jaguars among the beasts of the forest, and as a young jaguar among flocks of sheep, who, if he goes through both treads down and tears in pieces. And none can deliver them.”
“And it’s a fair translation?” Monica asked the professor.
“If it’s Illari’s, of course it’s fair,” he said with a hint of resentment. “She’s my best grad student.”
A flush rose to Illari’s cheeks from her mentor’s praise.
