“Because he’s the good guy, Eddie,” said Starkman, his eye glittering in the flashlight’s beam.
“Murdering innocent people, blowing stuff up, sinking ships—yeah, he sounds like a right Samaritan to me.”
“It’s for the greater good, believe me. You know me—”
“I used to know you,” Chase interrupted. “I thought I knew you. Now? I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going through your head.”
“You should still know that I wouldn’t take on a job if I didn’t believe in what I was doing. That never changed in all the years I knew you. It still hasn’t.”
“So you believe in what you’re doing,” Chase was forced to concede. The Texan had always been consistent in that much, at least. “Doesn’t make it right.”
“There are things I haven’t been proud of, sure. But the alternative’s worse. Which is letting your buddy Frost there get what he wants.”
“I already have what I want, Mr. Starkman,” Frost cut in.
“And why do you want it?” Qobras demanded, still defiant. “You’ve found the last outpost of Atlantis—and a sample of pure Atlantean DNA. But for what purpose?”
Frost gazed down at him, a half-smile on his lips. “I’m almost tempted to let you go to your grave without ever knowing the truth. But …” The smile vanished, his expression turning to stone. “We’re going to remake the world as it should be. With a ruling elite of pureblooded Atlanteans—and the worthless trash of humanity removed.”
Qobras’s disbelief slowly turned to horror. “My God… you’re even more insane than I thought. You never wanted a pure DNA sample so you could identify the rest of your kind—you wanted it so you could immunize yourselves! That lab of yours—you’re using it to create a bioweapon!”
“Wait, what?” said Chase, looking anxiously between the two men. “A bioweapon? Is this true?”
“That doesn’t concern you, Mr. Chase,” Frost replied, not taking his eyes off Qobras. “But now, Giovanni, now that you know the truth, now that you know the Brotherhood has failed … it is over.”
He pulled out his pistol and fired.
He had lied to Nina. It was loaded.
The crack of the shot echoed off the surrounding buildings as the back of Qobras’s skull blew open, splattering the men behind him with gore. Philby screamed, trying to scramble away until one of the guards kicked him back.
“Jesus!” Chase gasped, appalled.
“Get him up,” Frost told one of his men, indicating Philby. The professor shrieked in terror as he was hauled to his feet. “Shut up,” Frost snapped. “We’re taking you with us. Move him away from the others.”
Philby was pulled aside as the other guards, responding to a nod from Schenk, raised their MP-7s to a firing position.
“Wait, wait, stop!” Chase protested, stepping between Starkman and the nearest guard. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t just execute them!”
“Actually, Mr. Chase,” said Frost, “I can. In fact, now that I have what I came for …” his expression turned more stony than ever, “I’m terminating your employment.” He barked an order in Norwegian … and Chase found the guards’ guns pointing at him.
“What the fuck is this, boss?” he asked, warily raising his hands. Schenk took his Wildey and pushed him back into the circle of prisoners.
“This is the end,” said Frost. He looked at Schenk. “Restart the timer.”
“There’s only five minutes left,” Schenk replied. “Will that be enough time to get clear?”
“It will if we run.”
“Wait,” said Chase, “after everything you’ve been through to find this place … you’re just going to blow it up?”
Frost shrugged. “I no longer need it. These DNA samples are worth more than any amount of ancient treasure. Start the timer,” he ordered Schenk again. The German nodded and moved to obey.
“I told you,” Starkman muttered to Chase.
“So you’re just going to leave us in here with the bomb?” Chase asked.
Frost sniffed dismissively. “No, I’m going to kill you so you can’t stop the countdown. Ready!”
Each of the guns found a target. Chase saw at least two aimed at him.
Shit!
He needed a plan, fast.
But he had no gun, nobody to back him up.
Unless—
He stepped back as if cringing away from the guns, bumping into the kneeling Starkman. “Jason? Going to need a flash of inspiration here …”
Starkman shifted position behind him, raised hands nudging against Chase’s side.
His little finger reached out, and pulled.
Frost took in a breath, about to issue the order to fire—
Starkman flicked one of the flash grenades from Chase’s belt, the pin still hanging from his finger. They clapped their hands over their ears as the dark metal cylinder arced to the floor behind them—
The clank as the grenade hit stone drew the attention of all Frost’s men, eyes involuntarily darting to it—
The dazzling flash of igniting aluminum powder and potassium perchlorate was followed a millisecond later by a deafening bang as the grenade exploded, hitting the senses of anyone looking at it like a blow to the head. Even though the blast was only a fraction of the explosive force of a lethal grenade, it was still strong enough to knock the two nearest guards off their feet.
“Go!” yelled Chase, opening his eyes.
Years of training and experience told him everything he needed to know in a split second. The men circling the prisoners, including Frost, had been caught off guard by the grenade and were briefly blinded and disoriented. But the rest of Frost’s men, farther away, were less affected. And they were already reacting.
He drove a fist into the face of the nearest guard, feeling his nose flatten under the crunching impact. Behind him, Starkman sprang to his feet to deliver a powerhouse blow to the throat of another man.
Chase snatched the MP-7 from the guard he’d just hit and swung it around. A swath of fire spat from the compact weapon’s barrel. The unique 4.6-millimeter ammo of the MP-7 was specifically designed to penetrate body armor—at point-blank range, it ripped straight through everyone it hit.
He caught four of Frost’s men with the burst. They fell, jets of blood spurting from the holes punched through their armor. The more distant men dived for cover, unable to shoot back without endangering their comrades.
Another crackle of gunfire erupted behind him as Starkman opened up at the guards on the other side of the circle. Three men dropped, the cordon broken.
Chase saw that a couple of the prisoners had managed to protect their ears and were lashing out at their captors. The others were as dazed as Frost’s men.
There was nothing he could do for them. Individual survival was all that counted right now.
He spun to see Frost reeling, clutching his head. If he took out Frost, his plan would stop right here …
The young blond man, Rucker, sprung from seemingly nowhere and tackled Frost to the ground as Chase brought up his gun. He fired anyway, but the MP-7 clicked empty after just two shots. Holes exploded in Rucker’s back. The bullets hadn’t reached Frost.
And with their boss flat on the ground, the other men could open fire—
Beyond the mausoleum, Chase saw the Temple of Poseidon. The third one he’d seen—and the first two had been identical inside.
He smashed an elbow into the face of one of the remaining guards and sprinted away. “Get to the temple!” he shouted.
No time to see who was following him, and no time to care either. Off to one side, near the golden wall, Schenk crouched by the bomb. But there was nothing Chase could do to stop him from restarting the timer—the guards were firing!
Bullets sizzling past him, he ran like hell for the Temple of Poseidon.
TWENTY-SIX
Chase sprinted around the wall circling the mausoleum, using it as cover—however temporary. It would take only seconds f
or Frost’s men to flank it and cut him down.
Running footsteps sounded behind him. Starkman, two more of his men following farther back.
The light from the flashlight clipped to his chest danced crazily over the temple wall. The entrance should be dead ahead …
Dull impacts of metal on metal as bullets struck the golden wall. Someone screamed, and one of the sets of sprinting footsteps became thumps as a body tumbled to the ground.
He didn’t look back. The entrance was ahead, a square of absolute darkness in the wall. Starkman was almost alongside him. The bastard always had been a good runner—
Frost’s voice carried over the noise of the guns, yelling orders. “Kill them! Kill them all!”
Another frantic chatter of MP-7 fire, followed by screams. They were slaughtering the prisoners!
The black square expanded, jittering torchlight revealing the perspective lines of the tunnel inside the temple.
A bullet whipped past so close that he felt its heat, but he was in!
“Those motherfuckers!” Starkman gasped right behind him. “They killed my men!”
“Like you wouldn’t have done the same to them!” Chase spat back. The first corner was just ahead—
Orange light lit the tunnel, a lethal strobing as their pursuers reached the entrance and fired wildly into it. The trailing member of Starkman’s team took the full force of the bullets, his shadow thrashing wildly on the wall in front of Chase.
The corner—
Chase dived around it, Starkman following a step behind as more bullets smacked against the wall. Splinters of stone flew in all directions. Shielding his eyes from the stinging debris, Chase pulled a hand grenade from his webbing and yanked out the pin, the metal spoon pinging free.
He silently counted to three, then tossed the grenade around the corner at the approaching footsteps.
Boom!
Shrapnel filled the air like a swarm of enraged bees as Chase threw himself flat on the ground, dragging Starkman with him. The thunder of the explosion died away. The running footsteps had ceased.
Starkman sat up, recovering his MP-7. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Chase growled. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to let you live.”
“I’ve got the gun,” Starkman pointed out.
“And I’m the only one who knows how to get out of this temple. Come on!” Chase stood, pulling Starkman to his feet. “We’ve got five minutes before this entire place gets blown to buggery!”
“The bomb’s set!” said Schenk. “I disabled the controls—there’s no way to stop it!”
“If you want to stay alive, start running!” Frost yelled to Philby as he ran for the cavern entrance. With a gasp of fright, Philby raced after him.
Down the tunnel, around the corners … and into the chamber containing the Challenge of Strength. The wooden handles above the stone bench had long since crumbled to dust, but…
“Shit,” snapped Chase, seeing that the barbed vertical bars, though gnarled with corrosion, still obstructed the passageway just as they had in Brazil. “I thought they’d have rusted away by now!”
“What are they?” asked Starkman.
“A pain in the arse!” He took his last grenade and moved to the wall by the narrow passage. “Hang on!”
The grenade clacked along the stone floor, exploding halfway down the passage. The blast ripped the corroded metal bars to pieces and filled the air with a blizzard of scabbed metal flakes.
Chase looked along the passage. Only a few of the bars were still intact. “Okay! Follow me down there, on three, as fast as you can!”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“You go splat! One, two, three!”
Chase rushed down the passage, weaving between the stubs of the poles. A misstep could drive one of the rusty spears deep into his leg—although tetanus was the least of the threats to his life right now. “Get ready for the—”
Clunk!
The stone slab under his foot moved.
At least part of the ancient mechanism was still intact. With a rasping groan the ceiling blocks started to descend, dust raining through the gaps between them.
“What the fuck is this?” Starkman shrieked.
“Booby trap! We’ve got to get to the end before we get squashed!”
He ducked to avoid the stalactite-like remains of a pole, unclipping the light from his body armor. With no one on the bench to slow its progress, the ceiling was descending far quicker than in Brazil. But he could move faster.
The end of the passage was only feet away, but the last two bars were still intact, the gap between them narrow enough for the barbs to snag him.
He kicked, driving the heel of his boot against the nearest pole. It split in two, the top half plunging from its hole in the ceiling and slashing his leg.
But there wasn’t time for pain—the ceiling was still descending.
He cleared the last pole, sweeping the flashlight beam around as he tried to find the lever or switch or whatever the hell he was supposed to pull—
“Chase!” Starkman cried behind him. “Help!”
Chase looked back. Starkman, taller than him, had been forced into a crouch as the stones dropped—and his empty holster had snagged on one of the broken poles.
But if Chase went back to pull him free, the ceiling would crush them both within seconds.
“Eddie!”
Chase ignored him, hurriedly searching the wall—
There! A dark recess in the stone.
He thrust his fist into the square opening, fingers outstretched.
Nothing but dry, broken splinters.
The ceiling pushed down, forcing him to his knees. In a few more seconds, the last block would reach the hole in the wall and crush his arm, and then the rest of him…
The mechanism had to be made of something stronger than wood, or it would have decayed—
Chase forced his arm deeper into the hole, fingers clawing.
Wooden fragments, cold stone … metal!
The stub of some lever, part of a switch—it didn’t matter. He clamped his hand around it as tightly as he could, and pulled—
It moved!
It was only the slightest shift, but it was enough. Something inside the wall tripped with a hollow clunk—and the ceiling stopped.
Dust cascading all around him, Chase withdrew his hand from the hole to find that his palm was bleeding. The metal stub’s edges were as sharp as the rusted poles.
He turned the flashlight, looking for the spot where the exit had been in the Brazilian temple. A new crack appeared between two of the blocks. He shoved a foot against the stone. It moved.
“Little help?” said a quiet voice.
Starkman was hunched in an extremely uncomfortable position, twisted around the broken spike. The ceiling was less than three feet above the floor. Whatever machinery had retracted the stone blocks in Brazil was obviously out of action here.
Chase extended his uninjured hand to Starkman, then leaned back and pulled. For a few seconds it seemed as though Starkman was trapped—then the pole gave way with a grinding snap, pitching the American onto his front.
“Thanks,” he said, crawling forward. Chase kicked the hinged block aside.
“There’s still two more of these to go,” he warned, crawling through the hole and standing up in the next passage.
Starkman followed quickly. “How long have we got?”
“Three and a half minutes! Come on!”
“Is that long enough?” Starkman asked, running after him.
“It’ll have to be.”
The passage followed the same route that he remembered from Brazil. So far, so good—there was still a chance of survival.
A small one, but…
The echo of their footsteps changed, the tunnel opening out ahead. The Challenge of Skill.
Chase swept his light around the chamber. No caimans or piranhas here—in fact, there was no water at all, the s
tone pool completely dry. All that remained in the bottom of the nine-foot-deep channel was a scabrous, discolored residue of algae.
He looked to his right. The exit was there, but the bridge wasn’t. Not intact, anyway. It had rotted away and collapsed, its remains scattered across the pool like a broken skeleton.
“We’ve got to get over there,” he said, pointing at the exit and jumping down into the channel.
“How long?”
“Two and a bit minutes!”
They ran to the remnants of the bridge. Chase looked at the top of the wall. He might be able to jump and grab the edge, but it would be tough to keep his grip while climbing up.
“Give me a leg up!” Starkman said.
“Or you could give me a leg up,” Chase countered.
“You don’t trust me?”
“Fuck, no!”
“Fair enough, but you know the way out and I don’t!”
“Good point,” said Chase, bending down and clasping his hands together for Starkman to use as a foothold. The American scaled the wall and disappeared over the top.
For a horrible moment Chase thought he wasn’t coming back, then Starkman stretched his arms down the wall. Another few seconds, and Chase had pulled himself up.
“Thought I was gonna disappear, huh?” Starkman said as he stood.
“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” Chase looked at his watch. Two minutes. “Shit! Run!”
They sprinted down the tunnel. Next stop, the Challenge of Mind, but at least he knew how to find the back door.
He rushed into the chamber and got his bearings. “There’s a secret switch in the wall,” he began, hurrying to the corner—
To find nothing but blank stone.
No hole. No switch.
No back door.
“Shit!” He darted the flashlight beam along the base of the wall, hunting for another little nook, some sign that the builders of this temple had varied the design.
Nothing!
“What is it?” Starkman demanded.
“It’s not here! There’s no fucking back door!” He looked back at the stone door blocking the exit, at the symbols carved into the wall above it.
The trough of lead balls was there, as was the metal scale, and the spiked grid suspended from the ceiling, ready to plunge and impale anyone beneath it if the wrong answer was given.