The Mayan Apocalypse (13 page)

Morgan's eyes narrowed, Donny clenched a fist, and the woman looked puzzled.

“Maybe you should explain yourself,” Morgan said.

“May I sit?” Jaz motioned to one of the guest chairs in front of the desk.

Morgan nodded.

“What I have to say, Mr. Morgan, is private.”

“I trust these people. Ms. Horner is my confidential assistant.”

“I imagine they are very trustworthy, sir, but this conversation
can only take place in private. Mr. Quetzal made that very clear to me.”

Morgan sat. “Let me see if I have this right. You come to my office on short notice and then tell me who I can have present?”

“Mr. Morgan. These are sensitive times, and, as you know, events are already in place that make the future doubtful.”

“Oh, come on—”

Morgan cut Donny off with a hand.

Jaz continued. “Mr. Quetzal is doing a great deal to help people, but he must also be selective to whom he shares his plans. I have not been cleared to share this with anyone other than you. At least here. I have several other people of distinction to visit before my time in your state is done.”

“What did you mean about being partly truthful?” Donny had moved two feet closer.

“Sometimes my work requires the withholding of information, or—like a good magician—the misdirection of attention. I'm a bit of a liar.”

“So you're not who you say you are,” Morgan said.

“No more than Donny here is just a chauffeur.”

“We did an investigation on you and Davidson Security.” Donny clenched the other fist.

“I'm sure you did. I wanted you to do so. But I assure you, all the information you have is wrong.”

“Maybe you should leave.” Morgan rose.

“Please Mr. Morgan, you are in no danger from me. I carry no weapons, but you know that. You have a metal detector in the doorframe of the elevator. At least on this floor. Please sit down, sir. All I ask is a ten-minute private conversation with you. If you want to tell your friend everything later, well, that's up to you. I can't prevent it, nor would I try. Still, I'm obliged to follow my client's orders. I'm sure you understand.”

“What did you lie about?” Morgan took his seat again.

“My name is Jasper Kinkade. I'm the owner of Kinkade Investigations. Davidson Security is a dummy corporation. I have a dozen or so of those to help keep my enemies at bay.”

“You have enemies?” Morgan leaned back and seemed to relax a little.

“Don't you?”

“Not really.”

Jaz sighed. “I tell you what…” He reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. Before he could activate it, Donny was at his side. Jaz ignored him and looked at Janie. “Do you have a secure e-mail address I could use?”

She looked at Morgan, who nodded. “Yes,” and she recited it.

“I assume that it goes to an independent sever. If not, it should.” He waited for a second. “Hey, Skip. Do me a favor, and e-mail the Morgan/Morgan Natural Energy file to this address.” He repeated what Horner gave him, then signed off, returning the phone to his pocket. “In a few moments, you will receive a large file. It contains everything I've learned about you and your company, as well as your operations. You will find a document in there of great interest. It will change your mind about whether you have enemies or not.”

Morgan looked at Horner, who disappeared though a side door.

“Please, Mr. Morgan. A private moment.”

Morgan looked to Donny. “It's okay.”

Donny's face reddened. “I'll be just on the other side of the door.” He traced Horner's steps.

Jaz leaned forward. “Do the security monitors have audio?”

“No. I don't like people listening to my conversations.”

“Good for you.”

“I also don't like being worked, Mr. Davidson—Mr. Kinkade. So maybe you should get right to the point.”

O
kay, we have the room to ourselves, and I've given you my word that no one is listening—that is, if my word is good enough for you.” Something about the man across the desk made Morgan uneasy. Morgan had always leaned to the suspicious side anyway, but the cryptic message about Robert Quetzal and his visitor's free admission that he had lied about a few things gave Morgan a reason to be suspicious.

“Of course, your word is good enough for me, Mr. Morgan. I have not been sent here to give you grief, but I have been directed to limit my contact to just the essential people. In this case: you.”

“So you win people's confidence by lying to them?”

The man smiled. “The only people I've lied to today are your security people. I have been straightforward and honest with you about everything else.”

“And that will continue?”

“Yes. We are, after all, on the same side.”

“Are we?” Morgan watched Jaz's eyes, attempting to detect any indication the man was lying again.

“We are. Let's get down to cases, shall we, Mr. Morgan?”

Morgan answered with a sharp nod.

“I told you on the phone that Robert Quetzal sent me. I am here to make an offer, one you are certain to appreciate.”

“We'll see.”

“First, let me level the playing field. You have been following Mr.
Quetzal's work for some time. You have visited his oganization's website many times, both from your office here and from your home.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Any time you go online, you leave a traceable trail. It's not unusual or even that complicated. All visits to the website are recorded.”

“That sounds a little like Big Brother.”

Jaz shook his head. “Not at all. It's true for all websites. Call the people that manage the websites for your corporation. They'll tell you the same thing. In fact, if they're any good, they will find the number of times I check out your sites.”

“Okay, so you know I've visited Quetzal's site. So what? That's what it's there for, right?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Morgan, but there's more. We also know you were at his presentation in Roswell.”

“I want to know how…The tickets I purchased.”

“Yes. You gave your name and address. In your case, you gave a PO box within your firm. Your name, the business address, and the video of the audience we took helped us nail down the fact that it was you, the CEO of Morgan Natural Energy, sitting in one of our seats.”

“You videotape the audience?”

Jaz raised a hand. “Don't read too much into that. It's used to judge the effectiveness of Quetzal's methods so he can improve his delivery and content, but occasionally we can use it to identify the special people.”

“Special people? What makes me so special? Wait, let me guess: my money.”

“That's a big part of it.”

“Well, at least you're keeping your promise to be honest.”

Jaz shifted back in his chair and crossed his legs, as if he were sitting with a friend talking sports. “Don't read into that. There are many nonprofits that will do almost anything to get into the pockets of their supporters. The fact that you are rich isn't why I've been sent here.”

“The offer.”

“Yes, Mr. Morgan. You have shown a keen interest in the truth
being told by Quetzal and the Mayan 2012 organization. We think you're a believer. Are you a believer, Mr. Morgan?”

“In what?”

The smile on Jaz's face melted. “Mr. Morgan. I'm a busy man, and I have several more people like you to visit. If you're not going to take this seriously, then I'll just tell Quetzal that you are nothing more than a curious seeker and to give your spot to someone more—committed.”

“Are you asking if I believe the world is going to come to an end in 2012?”

“That's exactly what I'm asking.”

“I'm undecided.”

Jaz looked sad. He stood. “I'm sorry to have wasted your time. Have a good day.” He started for the door and then stopped. “Do I need an escort to leave?”

“No.”

With a nod, Jaz started for the door. Morgan waited until the man's hand touched the doorknob before calling him back.

“Mr. Morgan, we're talking about the end of the world. I'm a betting man, and I'd lay my mortgage on the table that you have been researching this for a long time. Am I right?”

“You are.”

Jaz returned to his seat. “Let's cut through the nonsense, shall we?”

“That's an odd tone coming from a man trying to recruit me.”

“I'm not attempting to recruit you. I'm trying to save your life.”

Lisa had been nervous about this request all morning. She had come into the office early to begin the research needed to write the article on the wealthy and influential 2012 believers, but she was hitting a dead end. The only real contact she could come up with was Andrew Morgan, and he wasn't returning her calls.

The phone on her desk buzzed. She answered, listened, hung up, and made her way to the boss's office. She knocked on the door then stepped in.

Rodney Truffaut sat behind a desk that had seen many years of use. He loved to tell all new employees how he had bought the desk from the
Chicago Tribune
, where he first worked. The desk had belonged to a famous reporter Lisa had never heard of. At least the man was famous in Truffaut's mind.

“No luck with Andrew Morgan?” Truffaut put his feet on the desk as Lisa sat in a worn chair next to the worn desk. She had to move the chair to see around the editor's feet.

“I've tried calling, texting, leaving messages, and even badgering their public relations office. I'm starting to think he might not want to talk to me.”

“Ya think? What did you do to get his knickers in a twist?”

“Knickers? Really? No one uses that phrase anymore.”

“I think it's a keeper. Now answer the question.”

Lisa sighed and slumped back in the seat. “I poked my nose in where it didn't belong. But isn't that what a good reporter is supposed to do?”

“Were you gathering info for a story?” He raised a bushy eyebrow.

She pursed her lips. “Not really. Sometimes I can't tell the difference.”

Truffaut nodded slowly.

“What? You're just going to sit there and agree with me?”

“Truth is truth.” He followed the words with a broad smile. “Since you asked for this little meeting, I assume you have an idea percolating in that devious mind of yours.”

“I do. I want to fly to Oklahoma City to see if he can turn me down in person.”

“I don't think he'd have a problem doing that.”

Lisa straightened. “I think he'll see me.”

“You'd better explain that to me.” Truffaut retrieved a pencil from
his desktop, held it near the pointed end, and tapped the eraser against his leg, something he did when he was warming to an idea. Lisa had his attention.

“Look, we met in Roswell and sat next to each other for Quetzal's presentation. I got the sense then that he was a gentleman. You know, a man who grew up in a home that emphasized Southern civility. When he saw me in the airport, he was polite enough to make conversation, and then when he learned I was stranded, he offered to fly me to San Antonio, even though it was out of his way and would cost his company money.”

“If I follow your logic, you think he's too much of a gentleman to ignore you if you're standing at his door.”

“Yes.”

“You know how big a stretch that is?”

Lisa cut her eyes away. “Yes, but I think it's a possibility we should pursue. Besides, he's my only lead at the moment. I'm stuck trying to find wealthy people who have signed on with Quetzal. It's not the kinda thing people announce with banners and PR releases.”

“Okay.”

“If I can interview him, it might open doors to…what did you say?”

“I said, ‘Okay.' We don't have much of a travel budget, not like the big news outlets, but I think I can scrape together enough for a flight to Oklahoma City. Coach, of course.”

“You know what I heard the other day? People choose their airline based on who abuses them the least. Not who provides the best service, but who is the least bad of the worst.”

“Coach. Take it or leave it.”

Lisa smiled. “I'll take it.”

“Good. Now tell me how Garrett is doing.”

Lisa hesitated.

“What? Don't tell me he's already made a mess of things. This is just his second day.”

“No, it's not that. It's…he hasn't shown today.”

Truffaut jerked his feet from the desk and sat up straight. “Did he call? Why isn't he here?”

“I don't know, and no, he didn't call.”

“Did you call him?”

“No, sir. I don't have his number.”

Lisa tried not to wither under her boss's stare. “Besides, it's not my place.”

“Did you say something to offend him?”

Anger rose in Lisa. “Oh, come on. I'm not that bad.”

Truffaut raised a hand. “No, of course not. I'm sorry. I'm just a little miffed. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted, and if it's all right with you, I'm going to leave before your head explodes.”

“That might be a good idea.”

“How do I know this isn't some joke or scam?” Morgan was doing his best to appear detached, but what he had just heard was too much to swallow.

Jaz looked serious, as if offended by the question. “I deal with doubt like this all the time. I don't blame you. It is too much to believe, but I'm asking that you open your mind to the possibility. The offer is for you and one other person. We're talking about a horrible end becoming a new beginning.”

“But you can't guarantee success.”

“Nothing in this life comes with a guarantee, Mr. Morgan. You of all people should know that.”

Me of all people. Does he mean my family?
“What is this going to cost me?”

“A lot, Mr. Morgan. What Quetzal is doing is extremely expensive, and time is short. To be ready by mid-December is going to take round-the-clock work. It's close to impossible, but still possible.”

“How long do I have to decide?”

“The end of the day. Once you agree, Charles Balfour or Quetzal himself will contact you. You were at the Roswell presentation, so you know who Mr. Balfour is.”

“The end of the day! That isn't much time.”

“Mr. Morgan, let me be blunt. As of this morning, there are 3565 people who want your spot and can pay for it. You won't be the first to say no. You won't be the last.”

“Who else signed up? I know many of the movers and shakers in the business world.”

Jaz looked disappointed. “I can't tell you that. We won't tell anyone about you, and we won't tell you about them. At least not for now. Things will change as we get closer to Threshold.”

“Threshold?”

“December 21, 2012. Join us, Mr. Morgan. Be one of the few still alive on December 22.”