Free The Mayan Apocalypse by Mark Hitchcock

hire.”
    Lisa studied the young man for a moment. He looked too young to go to college, let alone be a graduate. His skin bore a slight tint, causing Lisa to assume that he had Mediterranean roots in his past.
    â€œHi.” Lisa followed the word with a nod.
    â€œBack at ya.” Youthfulness and confidence flavored his voice. When Lisa got her first “real job” out of college, she had been a bundle of apprehension and fear, worried that people would learn before lunchjust how ignorant and naive she was. Garrett acted as if he were the chief’s nephew.
    â€œGarrett graduated at the top of his class.” Truffaut beamed. “Journalism, of course.”
    Lisa couldn’t resist. “Nephew? Grandson? Great grandson?”
    â€œI resent that, young lady. I’ll have you know that Garrett’s distant relation to me had nothing to do with my hiring him. And what do you mean by great grandson?”
    â€œDid I say that?” Lisa smiled. The others chuckled. “Okay, I’m going to go with nephew.”
    Garrett turned to the editor in chief. “You’re right, Uncle. She is the sharpest scalpel on the tray.”
    â€œAt work, you may call me boss, sir, or chief. Save the uncle stuff for family dinners.”
    â€œYes, Uncle—boss.”
    He sighed loud and for effect. “If it’s all right with the rest of you jokers, maybe we can return to being a news agency.”
    The chuckles evaporated.
    â€œSince the rest of us were slaving away in the office while you were vacationing in Roswell and flying around the country on some rich guy’s air yacht, we’ll start with you.”
    Lisa straightened in her chair. “As everyone knows—well, everyone but newbie here—I was in Roswell, New Mexico, to research Robert Quetza—”
    â€œThe Mayan priest guy?” Garrett’s eyes widened.
    â€œYes, newbie, but don’t bet your paycheck that he’s a real Mayan priest. Anyway, I sat through his spiel, which was held in a small movie theater. The place was packed. I got one of the last seats.”
    â€œWhat’s he like?” Marge asked.
    â€œTall, built like a lineman, articulate, well dressed, and rich.”
    Truffaut cocked his head. “How do you know he’s rich?”
    â€œWhile I waited for my plane to taxi to the runway, Morgan noticed a business jet with a Quetzal logo on the tail.”
    Jennifer leaned Lisa’s direction. “You mean while you sat in a corporate jet, you saw another corporate jet with Quetzal’s logo?”
    â€œLet it go, girl.” Lisa raised a hand. “I can’t help it if God likes me better than you.”
    â€œWho is Morgan?” Truffaut was trying to keep things on track, something he often likened to herding cats.
    â€œAndrew Morgan. He’s the CEO of Morgan Natural Energy and the guy who came to my rescue at the airport. I told you I got one of the last seats in the theater; he got the other. Anyway, he pointed out another private jet and identified it as belonging to Quetzal. Quetzal wears a gold pin in the image of a snake and two feathers.”
    â€œMakes sense,” Garrett said. “Ancient Mayans were polytheistic. One of their gods was Quetzalcoatl, a snake.”
    â€œRight,” Lisa said.
    â€œThat seems rather coincidental,” Jennifer said.
    Lisa shook her head. “Not really. Albuquerque International Sunport is one of the places people use to reach Roswell. You fly in there and drive the rest of the way. Roswell is not a big city. It makes sense that Quetzal and Morgan parked their aircraft there.”
    â€œDid you get an interview?” Truffaut pressed.
    â€œI tried. The man didn’t stay around long. By the time I got to the stage, he was gone. His security people made it clear that he seldom gives interviews after a presentation.” Lisa inhaled deeply. “He offered nothing new. Same nonsense as is