He hastened after his guide, doing his best to avoid contact with the plant, but as they went along, the encroachment became more pronounced, with vines scaling every tree and covering every inch of open ground. The trail was completely overgrown, and the only hint of its existence was a faint depression where someone — presumably the WHO team — had crushed the plant down during their earlier passage. But even that was vanishing as the stems rebounded from being trampled. The acidic smell in the air grew stronger, and every glancing contact with the leaves released more of the stinging vapor. It was not quite strong enough to be painful; it was more like the effect of cutting onions, but each step forward took them further from fresh air. Pierce was about to admit defeat and suggest they turn back when Cooper gave a cry of triumph.
“This the place, bossman!”
For a moment, Pierce thought his guide might be hallucinating. There was no sign of a village, no buildings, not even a clearing. Just an endless tangle of the weird vines, covering everything. Then something moved in the corner of his eye. Through a blur of tears, he saw an astronaut emerging from behind a tree.
“You shouldn’t be here.” The astronaut’s sharp tone was audible despite being muffled by the suit.
Pierce blinked, trying to bring the approaching figure into focus. Not an astronaut after all, he realized, but someone wearing a bio-safety suit.
A cursory glance showed that the over-garment was in bad shape, patched together with silver duct tape. Although designed for Bio-Safety Level Four conditions, this suit offered about as much protection as a raincoat. Instead of an internal air supply, the suit’s wearer was breathing through a HEPA filter that had been taped in place alongside the plastic face shield. Pierce knew that such suits were meant to be used once and then destroyed, but he also knew that the efforts to combat disease in West Africa were woefully underfunded. Personnel on the ground had to make do with whatever they had, which evidently included the reuse of disposable environment suits.
“Sorry,” he croaked. “I’m looking for Dr. Carter.”
The suited figure drew closer. Through the fog of breath vapor on the transparent faceplate, Pierce could see that the person within was dark-skinned and female. “I’m Dr. Carter,” she replied. “Who are you? What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you. I need your help.”
He meant to say more, but the pervasive fumes were making it tough to speak.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Carter repeated. “It’s dangerous.”
Pierce managed to shake his head, but before he could plead his case, he heard Cooper ask, “Dangerous? Is this why you are out here? This strange plant?”
The woman frowned, but her gaze came back to Pierce. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
“My name is George Pierce, and I’m here to…well, to offer you a job.”
“I have a job. You should leave.”
She began to turn away, so Pierce blurted, “I’m friends with Jack Sigler.”
That stopped Carter in her tracks. She faced him and replied in a low, almost threatening voice. “I don’t want anything to do with Jack Sigler or any of his friends. Leave. Now.”
16
“Is it just me?” Fiona said, staring through the windshield of Gallo’s aging but reliable Volkswagen Fox. She was looking at the free-standing Doric columns illuminated in the headlights. “Or do all these ruins look alike?”
Gallo glanced over at her. “Bite your tongue, girl.”
Fiona yawned. “Maybe it’s different in daylight.”
“This was your idea,” Gallo pointed out. “Perhaps a little enthusiasm is in order?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know it would take so long to get here.”
There were no direct flights between Gibraltar and Athens. The closest thing to a direct route took them first north to London Heathrow, where they caught the connecting flight headed south again to Greece. Gibraltar remained a remote destination in spite of modern conveniences. It was already dark when she and Fiona disembarked at Athens International Airport, but after retrieving her car from the long term parking lot, they set out for their next destination.
Fiona’s plan, in a nutshell, was to retrace the journeys of Herakles, connecting the dots, so to speak. Many of the legendary Labors were associated with real locations. From ancient times, geographers had used the legend to inform their map of the world, and vice-versa, but since the stories could not always be taken literally, the accuracy of those known locations was also suspect. They knew, for example, that there had been a ferocious feline beast whose skin was impervious to all known weapons, but whether the events described in the story actually took place in the Peloponnesian village of Nemea was not something that had been definitively proven.
If they could find evidence that Alexander Diotrephes — the real Hercules — had been in those places, it would help narrow down the list of possibilities for places that were harder to pin down, such as the entrance to the Amazon city’s Underworld. It promised to be a long, tedious search, but it was definitely better than staying cooped up in the citadel, waiting for Pierce to return.
Finding proof was only part of Fiona’s plan. She was also looking for graffiti, specifically, examples of the Mother Tongue that might have been overlooked or dismissed by modern archaeologists. If they could find even one inscription, like the one carved on the wall of the Labyrinth, it would help prove that Alexander had indeed been in some of those places. Additionally, such a discovery would advance Fiona’s ongoing quest to decipher that ancient and powerful language.
Although Gibraltar was associated with Hercules’s Tenth Labor — retrieving a herd of cattle from the three-bodied giant, Geryon — it seemed prudent to begin at the beginning, in Greece, where the first six Labors had allegedly been undertaken.
The town of Archaia Nemea looked about as deserted as the ruins of the Temple of Zeus that were its main attraction. The local archaeological museum that housed artifacts recovered from the ongoing excavation was closed for the night, as was every other establishment in the tiny village.
“Dead after dark,” Fiona observed. “Reminds me of the town where I grew up. Except for the ruins, of course. Should we come back in the morning?”
“Probably,” Gallo admitted. “But we’re here, so we might as well have a look.”
Armed with only a pair of flashlights retrieved from the trunk of Gallo’s car, the two headed into the site, where by day, archaeologists were excavating the temple and re-erecting the limestone columns, restoring a small portion of the sanctuary’s former glory.
As she swept the columns with her light, Gallo explained the site’s history. “This temple was built in the fourth century BC, but it was built over an earlier shrine that dates back at least to the sixth century BC. After he killed the Lion, Herakles came here and offered a sacrifice to Zeus before returning to King Eurystheus with proof of his victory.”
“That’s the legend,” Fiona replied. “What do you suppose he was really doing?”
Gallo had no answer to that, nor was there anything noteworthy in the excavation. After twenty minutes of looking around, inspecting the columns for inscriptions and finding none, Gallo was ready to call it a night. “We’ll come back tomorrow and visit the museum. If we don’t find anything, we’ll head to Myloi and start looking into the Hydra legend.”