Free Treasure of the Mayan King (2012) by Alehandro, Zabala Page B

abandoned the notion that King Chac had commissioned his workers to carve a riddle on the temple steps. Once the remains of King Chac were taken away to the museum, they closed base camp and left Temple #22 to be refurbished for tourism.
    The jungle reclaimed the temple steps, growing over the Mayan inscriptions. Their meaning was lost as Dr. Sova ceased communicating with the outside world. Chauncy assumed that, fed up with the bureaucratic stupidity he so hated, he had simply chosen to vanish.
    In the study of Dr. Sova’s hacienda in Merida, deep in his computer files, lay the answer to the greatest riddle of Mayan history, forgotten.
    Book Two: The Mayan Code

    Chapter One
    The sun’s morning light over Guadalajara found its inhabitants already hard at work, driving, bicycling or walking in every corner of the growing city. The rich, the poor, and the shrinking middle class scurried about, surviving by sheer will the many adversities faced by the Mexican people.
    Above the urban hubbub, a helicopter made its way toward the city’s center. Since military aircraft crossed the sky almost daily, the citizens below paid little attention.
    In the city’s center was the infamous federal prison, La Penitenciaria, or La Peni, as the locals called it. It was well known that La Peni was currently host to Jose Padilla Madrid, leader of one of the largest Mexican drug cartels. The prison itself was a converted castle. A leftover from the Spanish conquest, the gigantic structure was as large as a city block.
    The helicopter, bearing its prominent military emblems, changed course and moments later was hovering above the courtyard. Guards in the turrets, more curious than alarmed, shouted questions among themselves. Outside the prison street vendors and other passersby paused and pointed upwards.
    The guards’ questions were answered as two doors opened on opposite sides of the helicopter, and before they were fully extended, machine guns from inside opened fire.
    Glass and concrete shattered as the helicopter concentrated its fire on the turrets. The frightened screams from the civilians below were barely heard above the ear-splitting burst of machine gun fire. While most of the guards fled, a brave few opened fire at the aircraft, their pitiful weapons drowned out by the helicopter’s own arsenal.
    A small object was tossed from the aircraft. When it hit the ground, a bright light was accompanied by a thunderclap of noise that boomed through the other sounds. The few brave guards who had been shooting at the helicopter tumbled to the ground, incapacitated by the flash-bang. Two smoke grenades hit the courtyard and within moments the area was blanketed in acrid smoke.
    Unseen by anyone, a black-clad man rappelled from the aircraft. The instant his feet touched the ground inside the courtyard he was on the move, deftly maneuvering the rocket launcher he was carrying into firing position. He dropped to one knee and fired at the iron gates leading into the interior hallway of the prison. The helicopter had stopped firing, and in the semi-silence the explosion was ear-shattering.
    The intruder was inside before the echo of the explosion had died away. Loading a second rocket into his launcher, another explosion ripped apart a second set of iron gates.
    Strapping his rocket launcher to his back, he pulled out a pistol and sprinted to one of the cells blasted open by the last rocket. Kicking the twisted metal doors and removing a gas mask, he stepped inside shouting to the prisoner who had taken shelter beneath his cot.
    “Are you Jose Padilla Madrid?”
    “Si,” the prisoner responded, smiling as he stood up. Even in prison garb his aura of power wasn’t diminished.
    “Come, Mr. Madrid. It’s time to check out of this hotel.”
    Madrid donned the gas mask provided by his rescuer and followed him quickly into the hallway and through the haze in the courtyard. Less than five minutes after the helicopter had appeared over the