Hobbs seemed to have intuitive knowledge of exactly the right speed and intensity required to slip a knife hand through the field of the nearest man. The blow caught the mercenary in the solar plexus, and he crumpled forward without getting off a single blast of his lightning weapon.
Hurley wasn’t so lucky. His meaty fist slammed into his opponent’s energy bubble, but instead of penetrating, his blow bounced the man away like a rubber ball, even as the energy of the assault rebounded back on him. He was spun around and fell back into Hobbs just as the cascade of ice from the shattered wall came down upon them.
Dodge stabbed out with his gauntlets, but withheld fire as his foe snared Molly once more and dragged her between them. Keeping her in that position, as a shield, the dark god began retreating back into the tunnel. Dodge was about to follow when a storm of thunderbolts began raining down from above. His force field flashed under the assault, screeching in protest as the opposing charges gradually weakened the shield. He cast a glance to the source of the attack and found two mercenaries, holding the limp body of the President between them, raining fury down on his head.
“Damn it!” He could not shoot the men, for fear of hitting their captive and knew he couldn’t endure their bombardment much longer. Yet, the two mercenaries did not press their advantage. They kept moving, intent on taking the President to their leader, and there wasn’t a thing Dodge could do to stop them.
Hobbs succeeded in downing a second of the mercenaries, and Hurricane, by slowing his attack, managed to wrap his arms around another and crushed him senseless. But as close as they were to evening the odds, the battle was already lost. As soon as the two mercenaries left the half-dome chamber, the dark god reappeared brandishing his staff. The metal rod crackled with an intensity unlike anything Dodge had seen before; it was as though the hooded man had captured a real lightning bolt on his rod and was preparing to….
“Uh, oh.”
He turned to warn the others but before he could speak, the entire dome was filled with light so brilliant that even the oblique reflection off the glazed ice surface stabbed through his head like a white-hot poker. There immediately followed a detonation that was, Dodge imagined, like standing in front of a cannon. Without the force field to protect him, the concussion would have pounded him to a pulp.
Instead, the shockwave slammed him once more into the frozen wall, obliterating yet another section of the ancient warning carved there. Hurley and Hobbs were likewise buffeted by the thunderclap and for a moment, all three were too stunned to do anything. The enormous lightning bolt however, was only the catalyst for the dark god’s attack. He had not turned the electricity against them, but had instead directed it up to the high ceiling of ice. The crystalline structure of the ice gave it remarkable insulating properties — unlike water in its liquid form, ice was not conductive — but the kinetic energy from the lightning strike was like a stick of dynamite. The frozen dome shattered and began to cascade down in jagged chunks.
Though still mostly blind from the dazzling lighting, Dodge knew what was happening when he felt the first shudder pass through his energy shield. “Hurricane! Padre! Go through the doorway.”
He didn’t know if they heard, didn’t know if they would understand what he was telling them, much less if it was a good plan. That was one of the burdens of leadership. He flexed his knees then leaped straight up the wall.
The collapse of the ceiling was radiating out from the point of the blast, affording Dodge and the others the merest fraction of a second to make their escape. Even so, huge chunks of ice, like hailstones, rained down on them, bounced against their force fields and knocked them askew. Though relatively protected from the impacts, it was like trying to swim up Niagara Falls. The black opening, no longer perfectly square, became the only thing in Dodge’s universe that mattered. When his fingers grazed the threshold, he pulled himself through and was swallowed once more by the darkness.
The dark god stood motionless as a piece of ice the size of an automobile tumbled down the tunnel toward him. It crunched to a halt mere inches away. The chamber beyond was unquestionably sealed and those within, surely dead.
The mercenaries holding the American leader between them exchanged a troubled glance. Although they felt no special loyalty to their comrades who now lay beneath tons of ice, entombed for all eternity, they could not help but be dismayed at the casual indifference of their leader; it might just as easily have been them in there.
The cloaked master knew their thoughts, knew also how easily they would forget those lost soldiers of fortune when they realized how their own share of the final payoff had just increased. He would probably have to dispose of them before returning to America. Emboldened by their possession of the ancient technology they wore, it was only a matter of time before one or both attempted a coup.
He turned away from the collapsed chamber and entered the flying disc, dragging the struggling girl along in his wake. As soon as the metal had sealed over the entry, he illuminated the interior with his staff and addressed the President.
“Your champions have failed. They have either fallen in combat or fled before my face.” He leaned close so that the heat of his breath fell upon the other man’s face. “You will abdicate your throne to me.”
“America will never stand for a dictator in the White House. They will fight and they will throw you down.”
The dark god smiled. “They may fight. But for every man that boldly asserts his freedom, there will be another craving to be ruled by a strong hand. Have you brought prosperity and security to your subjects? I will make such things law, and enforce them with a power that none can stand against. America will all too eagerly kneel before her new emperor, and the world shall soon follow!”
Dodge stared at the typewriter wondering how to finish the tale. He had brought Captain Falcon to such a place innumerable times; dangling from the edge of a precipice by his fingertips, bound and gagged by his foes and left in the path of an oncoming train, chained beneath the sweep of a pendulum scythe… Falcon always escaped. But how to get him out of this fix?
Maybe Hurricane could offer a suggestion. Or the Padre.
But that was silly, because Father Hobbs was in Africa. Hobbs was in Africa with Molly.
How did I know that? Because I went there with Hurricane when…
The scales fell once more and he remembered everything. He ran for the door. “Padre!”
Hobbs shot him a warning glance as he burst into the nave. Though the small chapel was empty of worshippers, the priest demanded that this newcomer show the respect due a house of God.
Dodge hastened forward. “Padre, am I glad to see you.”
“You are welcome in this house, my son. You are an American?”
“Padre, it’s me, Dodge. I need you to remember where you are. Remember the ice.” Dodge was himself fighting to keep hold of his slippery consciousness. The forgetfulness of the dream was relentlessly seductive. “Padre, we’re in the Abyss.”
Hobbs eyes drew into narrow slits at the reference, and then he glanced around as if questioning the solidity of the chapel. “The Abyss? I remember. The roof was coming down; we fled here when there was nowhere else to go.”