“Yeah, but I didn’t think anyone took me seriously.”
“I did. And evidently, so did Kenner.”
Pierce mumbled his agreement, and then added, “But he’s not working alone. Someone is bankrolling him. I’ve got Cintia working that angle. We have to find out who, and then shut them down.”
Gallo looked around. “Why did you come here? Athens would have been a lot closer.”
“If he’s figured out that Fi and I made it out, then he might come after us again.”
“Him, or that ogre he was with,” Fiona added.
“And you think he might come after me, as well,” Gallo said. She did not elaborate on what Kenner’s intent might be in such a scenario.
Eight years ago, when she had arrived in Athens as a freshly minted post-doc, eager to carve out a niche for herself in the academic world, she had fended off the relentless advances of more than a few of her colleagues. Liam Kenner, who was not quite as dashing and sophisticated as he imagined himself, had been just another strutting peacock trying to catch her eye.
Pierce alone had treated her as an equal, not a prize to be won. They had become friends first, and only later had their relationship deepened. When Fiona’s adopted father had asked Pierce to take over the Herculean Society, as he had from Alexander, Pierce had not hesitated to include Gallo. They were more than just ‘in a relationship.’ They were a team.
“Or he might try to use you to get to me,” Pierce replied. “It’s safer here, at least until I can figure out what to do next.”
Gallo did not fail to notice the exclusivity of his language, but decided to let it slide. Pierce was clearly still rattled from the attempt on his life. Rather than comment, she rose from her chair and went over to inspect the one item that Pierce had brought back from Crete. “This is really the skin of the Nemean Lion?”
“And it lives up to the hype,” Fiona said, before Pierce could answer. “Bullet-proof, explosion-proof, cave-in-proof…you name it, the Lion skin stops it.”
Gallo turned back to Pierce. “You said he took Queen Hippolyte’s girdle and a book?”
“A copy of the Heracleia. Probably one of the first ever written down and the only one still in existence today.”
“Why?”
Pierce blinked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Kenner’s specialty is paleopharmacology. You said he as much as told you that he was looking for the secret to creating monsters like the chimeras of mythology. Yet, of all the things that you found hidden in the Labyrinth, he took a book and a belt. Does that make sense to you?”
Pierce’s forehead creased in a frown. “When he found the belt, Kenner told his partner that they had what they came for.” He raised his eyes to meet Gallo’s stare. “Hippolyte was the daughter of Ares, the god of war. The belt was a gift from him, a symbol of his favor and her right to rule over the Amazons. In most versions of the story, the belt is said to possess magical properties, but there’s no clear explanation of what that means. Probably enhanced prowess in battle or invincibility.”
She nodded toward the Lion skin. “Kind of like that. Maybe the belt was from some exotic animal? That might explain Kenner’s interest.”
“In some versions, it’s made of leather. In others, gold. Not much help there.” Pierce searched his memory for other trivia relating to the war girdle, but it was Gallo who spoke next, reminding him why they made such a good team.
“Herakles was sent to retrieve the belt as a gift to King Eurystheus’s daughter,” Gallo said. “When he arrived at the Amazon city, Hippolyte went to meet him. She was about to give him the belt without a fight when the goddess Hera intervened and turned the Amazons against him. He ended up killing Hippolyte. In some of the more obscure interpretations, the belt is thought to be a symbol of Hippolyte’s virginity, but I would tend to doubt that given the fact that Herakles takes the belt after killing her.”
“Assuming that Kenner knew what he was talking about, the belt is the real thing.” Pierce sighed. “Which means we’re back to square one.”
“There was something on the belt,” Fiona supplied. “A picture, I think.”
If Pierce heard her, he gave no indication. “Kenner was very specific about his intentions. He wants to make chimeras. We need to stop him. And we need to get back what he took. Those are our primary objectives now.”
“Why would he require something from the ancient world? From what I’ve been reading, genetic engineers are already making chimeras.”
“He seemed to think there was something unique about the creatures of Greek mythology. A shortcut that increased the chances of success. The worst thing is, he’s probably right. We know that at least some of those creatures were real.”
An electronic chime spared Pierce from recalling his past encounters with strange creatures believed to be myth, but which were very real. He turned to the computer screen where the message ‘Incoming call from Cintia’ flashed. He clicked on ‘Accept,’ and a few seconds later, Dourado’s likeness appeared on the screen.
To say that Dourado favored an eclectic style was a profound understatement. Today, she sported purple hair — the color was as changeable as the phases of the moon — which spilled out above a lime green bandana tied around her head like a sweatband. She had too many piercings to count. Hoops and barbells seemed to sprout from every available fold of flesh: eyebrows, ears — lobes and cartilage, a tiny rhinestone decorated the side of one nostril and a pair of rings adorned her lower lip in what Gallo had been informed was called a ‘snakebite.’
Gallo, who preferred a more traditional concept of beauty, was always amazed at the effort Dourado put into camouflaging her natural good looks, the product of a thoroughly mixed bloodline that gave her flawless honey-colored skin, brilliant almond-shaped green eyes and envy-inspiring cheekbones.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Dourado said. “I didn’t think this could wait.”
She spoke in a very precise manner, enunciating every word, as if trying to avoid letting her accent slip through, not realizing that the effort had the opposite effect.
“What have you got?” Pierce replied.
“This man Kenner has some very unusual friends. I traced his financials through a series of non-profits, all of them shells, eventually circling back on itself.”
“You didn’t call to tell me ‘dead-end.’”
“No,” Dourado admitted. “But the money trail doesn’t lead anywhere. I haven’t seen such a complicated branch network since I hacked the Society.”
“That’s why you’re the perfect person for this job,” Pierce said. “If anyone can crack this nut, it’s you.”
Gallo thought his tone, while encouraging, sounded dangerously close to patronization.
Dourado didn’t seem to take it that way. “I decided to ignore the money and look at the shell organizations. Each of these organizations has a website, and on each website, there is a cleverly concealed application that redirects to this.”
Dourado’s violet-haired visage vanished, replaced by a live feed of a computer screen displaying a black logo — a stylized image of what appeared to be three dog heads, joined together and staring watchfully in all directions — on a blank white background.
Fiona, who had roused herself and was now staring over Pierce’s shoulder, was the first to identify the image. “Cerberus. The three-headed dog that guards the gates of the Underworld. Capturing Cerberus was Hercules’s final Labor.”
Underneath the logo was a line of text and a Java script box. The prompt read simply: ‘What do you want?’