The Tomb of Hercules_A Novel

  Chase tilted his raised arm, still whirling the hose like a lasso but now bringing it down closer to floor level as the other guard vaulted over his fallen comrade, pulling a gun from his jacket—

  The hose whipped around his ankles.

  The man stumbled, throwing his arms out to keep his balance. Before he had a chance to bring up the gun, Chase charged at him, bending to ram into him at waist height and scoop him off his feet. Without slowing, he ran into the darkened box, seeing the surprised faces of Yuen and Sophia as he shot past them and threw the guard over the edge of the balcony.

  The hose snaked past him at frightening speed, the bodyguard letting out a high-pitched shriek of fear…

  The shriek was cut off abruptly as the hose snapped taut, vibrating like a plucked guitar string. Chase looked over the balcony. The bodyguard’s fall had been brought to a stop with his head inches above the auditorium’s main aisle. The opera continued, the performers and musicians unable to see what had happened through the glare of the lights—though Chase did hear a chorus of “Shhhh!” over the singing.

  He turned to the occupants of the box. Sophia stared at him in amazement, while Yuen’s expression was one of disbelief and growing rage.

  “Sophia, get up,” Chase ordered. She did. He hoisted her over his left shoulder in a fireman’s lift, realizing she still had her high heels on. Muttering a curse, he backed to the edge of the balcony. “Hold on to me, and whatever you do, don’t let go.”

  She clung to him. “What are you going to—”

  He wrapped the hose around his right arm, lifted it clear of the balcony railing—then vaulted over the edge.

  The hose hissed as he slid down it, feeling the sharp heat of friction through his sleeve. Sophia yelped in shock as they dropped towards the floor, the bodyguard still dangling below—

  Chase tightened his legs around the hose, using the guard’s upturned soles as a landing pad for his feet. He bent his knees to absorb the impact, then said, “Brace yourself!” as he unraveled his arm and jumped the last few feet to the ground. He felt Sophia’s stomach muscles tense against him just before the impact, body heat against his cheek.

  Old memories…

  They hit the floor. Sophia gasped. Chase looked up the aisle towards the rear exit, aware that the audience was gawking at him. Someone shouted from above. Yuen leaned over the balcony, pointing down at them. Chase gave him a cheeky salute, then ran up the aisle, Sophia still over his shoulder. Little coils of smoke wafted from his right sleeve. The black cloth had been scorched brown. He hoped Mei hadn’t paid a deposit on the tuxedo, as she wasn’t going to get it back.

  “You okay?” he asked Sophia.

  “I’m fine!” she replied, somewhat winded. “That was … that kind of reminded me of how we first met!”

  “Yeah, but I had a machine gun then, and there weren’t any civvies around to worry about. Mind your head!” He turned sideways to slam open the double doors with his right shoulder, emerging in the brightly lit lobby. Sophia’s legs waved in front of him, her spike heels glinting. “I told you to take off your bloody shoes!”

  “I didn’t realize you were going to burst in like some crazed rhino halfway through the opera!” Sophia objected as he hurried for the exit. “I was expecting something more subtle!”

  “You really didn’t know me at all, did you?” More shouts came from above. He looked up to see Yuen’s two remaining bodyguards hurrying back down the stairs, guns in their hands. The handful of people in the lobby screamed when they saw the weapons and ran for the exits. “Hellfire! Will these guys shoot at me if I’ve got you?”

  “I certainly hope not!”

  “Then make sure and tell them not to!” He looked back as Sophia shouted commands in Mandarin. He was only halfway across the lobby, and the two bodyguards were almost on him—

  “Put down Lady Sophia!” one of the men yelled in heavily accented English. Whatever Sophia said had worked; neither guard had put away his gun, but nor were they aiming them at him. “Put her down now!”

  “Come and get her!” Chase called as he turned to face them, right arm outstretched to counterbalance Sophia’s weight over his shoulder. They were moving to flank him, one on each side. “You keep up with the fight training?” he asked her.

  She was puzzled. “Yes?”

  “Good, because you just became my weapon! Get ready—”

  One of the bodyguards rushed at them. Chase whirled around and hit him square in the face with Sophia’s feet as she kicked out, the heavy platform soles cracking into his jaw. The man’s head snapped to one side and he dropped to the floor, dazed and bloodied.

  “Nice one!” Chase told her, spinning to look for the second guard. He had been closing from the other side but had now stopped abruptly, realization spreading across his face that Sophia was helping her kidnapper. He brought up his gun.

  Chase turned faster, hoping Sophia still thought as quickly as she used to. She did, lashing out with one expensively shod foot—

  The gun flew out of the bodyguard’s hand and clattered away across the lobby’s marble floor. He stared in surprise at the tip of the spike heel protruding through his palm. Sophia pulled her leg back, a little spout of blood jetting from the hole in the man’s hand as her heel withdrew. He howled—only for the cry of pain to stop abruptly as Chase punched him in the face and knocked him flat on his back.

  “Aren’t you glad I kept my shoes on now?” Sophia said.

  “Okay, I’ll give you that one,” Chase replied, jogging for the exit.

  “It would have been much simpler if you’d just shot him, though.”

  “I didn’t bring a gun,” Chase admitted.

  Sophia’s voice filled with disbelief. “What? Why not?”

  “I’m trying to cut down on shooting people. Too much paperwork.”

  “Since when do you care about paperwork?”

  “My life’s changed!” He booted one of the glass doors open and hurried outside, looking back for signs of pursuit. Yuen was running down the stairs, and the bodyguard Sophia had kicked in the head was struggling to his feet.

  A car horn hooted frantically. A taxi charged across the plaza towards the front of the Grand Theatre, pedestrians jumping out of its way. “That’s our ride!” he told Sophia, waving to Mei as she brought the taxi to a screeching stop in front of them. He pulled open the rear door, then quickly bowed to deposit Sophia on the pavement with a click of her heels. “Get in, quick,” he ordered, now all business. Behind, Yuen was rallying his troops, the bodyguard now helping the second man up, and another coming down from the balcony level.

  Chase shoved Sophia into the taxi, then leaped in after her. Mei stamped on the accelerator before he even had a chance to close the door, the taxi taking off with a shriek of rubber. He poked his head up to look through the rear window—

  “Duck!” he shouted, shielding Sophia with his body. Yuen and one of the bodyguards were now outside the theater, the guard raising his gun. Chase heard four shots, but none of them seemed to hit the speeding taxi.

  “Good thing this isn’t my cab!” Mei yelled, swerving the taxi onto a grass verge. It skidded over it in a shower of turf and careered across a pavement. People dived out of its path, yelling obscenities after them as Mei turned again, merging into a line of identical cabs as they sped along the street.

  Chase looked back. Yuen was an angry silhouette against the illuminated glass foyer—then trees blocked him from sight. “Okay, we’re clear. Nice driving, Mei.”

  “That was nothing. You should see me when I need to get home to pee!” She looked at Sophia in the mirror. “So, you rescued your lady friend? Hi, I’m Mei.”

  “Sophia Blackwood,” Sophia told her. “I’m very happy to meet you!”

  Mei’s expression became confused. “Sophia? But wasn’t that your first wife’s …” She glanced back at Chase. “Is she who you told me about before, the one you—”

  “No,” said Chase emphatically. “Le
t’s get to the station. The sooner me and Sophia get out of here, the better.”

  “We have to go to my husband’s company headquarters first,” said Sophia. It was a command, not a request.

  Chase raised an eyebrow. “You what?”

  “I can’t leave the country otherwise—Richard keeps my passport in his office safe.” To Chase’s disbelieving look, she went on, “I said in my letter that he was controlling.”

  “Wait, and you let him? You?”

  “Can we not start, please?” Sophia sighed, exasperated. “And there’s more there than just my passport. I can access his private computer files—and give you the proof that he’s connected to the sinking of the SBX rig.”

  “And you couldn’t have done this before?”

  “Don’t you think I would have done if I could?” she snapped. There was a brief, frosty silence. “I’m sorry. Eddie, I’m so grateful that you would do this for me, you have no idea. But you don’t know what Richard is like. He’s very … suspicious. Paranoid, even. And now that I’ve found out what he’s involved in, I know why.” She touched his hand. “Once we’re in his office, it’ll only take me ten minutes, less, to get what I need.”

  Chase looked down at her hand on his, thinking. Then he gave it the briefest of squeezes before leaning forward. “Okay, Mei. Looks like we’re making a detour. Take us to the Ycom building.”

  New York City

  Half a world away, Nina sat back and rubbed her eyes, frustrated but unwilling to admit defeat. She had arrived at the anonymous Art Deco office building a few blocks from City Hall just after six in the morning, excitement blowing away any tiredness, eager to see the ancient parchments with her own eyes. Met in the lobby by an unsmiling—and almost certainly armed—man, she was taken to the fifth floor to meet Popadopoulos.

  There was a second man with him, another well-dressed but grim-faced guy with the build and pug features of a boxer. He too was armed; Nina was now familiar enough with concealed weapons to spot the telltale bulge beneath his tailored Italian jacket. He carried a black leather case, which at first glance Nina took to be chained to a steel cuff around his wrist. On closer examination, she realized that the wrist chain actually disappeared into the case, attached to something within.

  “Good morning, Dr. Wilde,” said Popadopoulos.

  “Mr. Popadopoulos.” Practice had made perfect. “What is this place?”

  “One of the Brotherhood’s properties—a safe house, you could say. We have a number of them around the city.”

  Nina regarded him coldly. “Like the place where Jason Starkman planned on killing me a year and a half ago?”

  Popadopoulos shifted uncomfortably. “I never met Mr. Starkman. My role within the Brotherhood is concerned only with the archives. Now, come, come, you wanted to see something, no? Well, I have brought it. At considerable inconvenience, I might add.” The other man placed the case on the large old oak desk in the center of the room and opened it. Popadopoulos carefully lifted out the object inside.

  It was a book, in dimensions an inch or two larger than a sheet of typing paper, but as thick as a dictionary. The cover was bound in dark red leather and reinforced by a brass frame, held shut by a heavy clasp. The “pages” were also framed in metal, each about half a centimeter thick. The whole thing seemed extremely heavy.

  Popadopoulos spoke in Italian, and the other man took out a key and unlocked the cuff linking him to the book. To Nina’s surprise, Popadopoulos then fastened it around his own bony wrist. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I told you that I will remain with the text at all times,” he said, sitting at the desk. The chain connecting him to the book was about eighteen inches long.

  “What, you don’t trust me?”

  “People have stolen items from the Brotherhood before. I know you met Yuri Volgan, for one.”

  “You think I’m going to steal it? Oh, come on!” She tipped her head towards the other man. “You’ve got Rocky here and God knows how many other guys guarding the building, and we’re five stories up! I’m hardly going to jump out the window with it.”

  “That is the arrangement you agreed to, Dr. Wilde,” Popadopoulos said curtly. “Accept it, or leave.”

  Annoyed, she sat opposite the historian and brought out her laptop and notepad. The other man left the room, taking up a position outside the door.

  Popadopoulos unfastened the clasp. “So, Dr. Wilde,” he said as he opened the book, “here is the original text of Hermocrates.”

  Despite having seen many photographs of the parchments, Nina couldn’t help but be awed at the sight of the real thing. Each page of the ancient work was pressed between two sheets of glass. The parchments were discolored and mottled, but they were still far more intact than any other documents from the same era that she had ever seen. The Brotherhood clearly took great care even of items it had stolen.

  She looked more closely at the first page. The handwriting stood out clearly, the ink mostly a reddish brown but with darker impurities mixed in. There were even mistakes: inkblots, scratches, words crossed out. In a couple of places another hand had added annotations. Her heart beat faster. Plato had disapproved of written text, preferring the oral tradition of rote memorization … but that didn’t mean he never used it. Were these the notes of the great philosopher himself, passing comment on the students who transcribed his words?

  Popadopoulos coughed slightly. Nina looked up at him, belatedly becoming aware that she was grinning like a fool. “You are impressed, Dr. Wilde?”

  “Oh, God, yes!” she replied, nodding. For a moment, Popadopoulos looked amused rather than irate. “This is incredible! You’ve actually had these for over two thousand years?”

  “In different locations, preserved in different ways, but yes. This book was bound in the nineteenth century. You are the first person from outside the Brotherhood ever to see it.”

  “I’m honored,” she said, meaning it. Popadopoulos nodded.

  “But,” he said, “I still do not believe you will find anything in person that you could not have got from photographs, no, no. There is nothing more to discover.”

  Nina turned the page, finding with surprise that the back of the parchment was blank. “I disagree—I’ve already discovered something I didn’t know.” She tapped the glass. “The photos never suggested that only one side of the page had been written on. Parchment was expensive—it’s kind of unusual not to use both sides, don’t you think?”

  “Unusual, yes, but not unknown,” Popadopoulos said dismissively. “I assure you, you will find nothing else.”

  Nina gave him a crooked grin. “I like a challenge. Okay—let’s get started.”

  But three hours later, reluctant as she was to admit it, Popadopoulos was right. Having already read the text from photographs and in translations many times over the past months, Nina was able to work through it quickly, turning each heavy page with the hope of discovering something new … and always being disappointed.

  There were no hidden clues to the location of the Tomb of Hercules, no additional paragraphs completing the tale. Plenty about Atlantis, yes, and about the wars between the Atlanteans and the ancient Greeks, a splendid treasure trove of knowledge for historians … but nothing new about her current obsession.

  “Dammit,” she muttered, defeated.

  Popadopoulos sounded almost sympathetic. “As I told you, Dr. Wilde, there is nothing. Either the text was never fully transcribed, or Plato had no more knowledge of the Tomb.”

  “He wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place if he didn’t mean to discuss it,” Nina objected. “Critias says he’ll tell Hermocrates and the others where it is, how he was told its location by Solon, who got it from the records of the Egyptian priests. Just like Atlantis. There are phrases in the text that seem to be clues, like this one—’For even a man who cannot see may know the path when he turns his empty face to the warmth of the sun.’ It doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of the dialogue a
round it.” She turned back through the pages, their frames clanking against each other. “There has to be something more.”

  Popadopoulos stood. “It will have to wait. Now would be a good time to take a break, no?”

  “I don’t need a break,” said Nina impatiently.

  “But I do! I am an old man, and I had a very large meal last night.” He clucked disapprovingly. “American food, such huge portions. No wonder you are all so fat.”

  “Wait, I know I agreed that I could only see it for a limited time,” protested Nina, ignoring the crack at her countrymen, “but now you’re going to take it away while you go to the john?” An idea came to her.

  “Look, handcuff it to me if you’re worried. I can hardly just stroll out with it without anyone noticing, especially with a guy right outside the door. It must weigh twenty pounds, at least! And I’m not going to damage it—I want to preserve it every bit as much as you do.”

  Popadopoulos narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, considering it. “I… suppose that could be done. But…” He unlocked the cuff, then looped the chain around one leg of the heavy table, making a steel knot.

  “Are you serious?” Nina asked.

  “I will not be gone long, perhaps twenty minutes.”

  “Wow, I guess you really did have a big meal.”

  He scowled. “This is my condition, Dr. Wilde. Either accept it, or I will take the text away with me.”

  Nina relented. It was only for a short while, after all… “Oh…okay.” Popadopoulos held up the cuff. “But on my left hand. I want to be able to take notes.” She pulled her chair to the end of the table.

  The handcuff closed around her wrist, the steel teeth clicking ominously. Nina felt a chill. The last time she’d been handcuffed, she’d been a prisoner, on her way to be executed. She raised her arm. With the chain wound around the table’s thick leg, it only had a few inches of movement.

  “I will return soon,” Popadopoulos assured her as he went to the door.

  She jangled the chain. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”