“Zoom out again a bit,” King said.
She did as he requested, then looked at him, still fanning herself with the useless tourist map.
“You cannot be thinking Ridley would get permission to build Omega inside a mosque. Not even Ridley had that kind of money,” Asya tapped the keyboard for a few seconds, searching for information. “The Malik ibn Anas mosque was built in 2003, and was originally called El Abidine. It holds 1000 worshippers and even has a radio station.”
“A radio station?”
“For broadcasting the call to prayer,” she told him.
“Ah. No. You’re right. Not even Ridley had that kind of clout. But I’m not thinking of the mosque. You said it was built in ’03?”
“Yes. But if not the mosque, then where?” she asked.
King smiled and put the van into drive.
“You are serious?”
“I’m telling you, this is where it will be.” King pointed at the lines and lines of parked cars. They had been sitting in the southwest corner of the immense parking lot, watching the worshippers arrive in droves for Maghrib, the evening prayer. The sun was mostly down on the horizon, as hundreds of men clad in a variety of dress had all jockeyed for parking spots and then quickly hurried into the massive white mosque across the Boulevard de l’Environnement. King had kept the engine running, chewing through petrol, so they could continue to stay cool.
“The parking lot? It’s insane. Look how full the lot is. How could Ridley and his people get in and out without being seen?” Asya asked.
King turned to her and grinned. “Easily, as long as he did it at any time of day except during the five times of prayer.”
Approximately twenty-five minutes after the last man had entered the mosque, the first of them began hurrying back to their vehicles. Then a swarm of humanity flooded from the structure and the parking lot was inundated with pedestrians and moving vehicles. King thought it vaguely resembled a swarm of fire ants around a hive. In twenty minutes more, the lot was nearly empty, and King marveled at the efficiency of the drivers.
They waited five more minutes and their van was the only vehicle in the gigantic darkening lot.
“That was amazing,” Asya said.
“Now to see if I was right.”
A few minutes later, he spotted a shadow darting from cover to cover in the little park on the far side of the empty lot.
“There,” King pointed, as the shadow shifted.
“A wraith, like in Malta?” Asya asked.
“Maybe.”
The shape darted behind white concrete, and then it was gone. King waited a minute, then drove the van across the parking lot with the headlights off. He parked on the north side of the lot, where they had seen the moving shape. To the left was a tiny park with landscaped trees and shrubs. Directly in front of them was a small white fountain. A tiled walkway stretched to the right, off the edge of the lot. Beyond that, was the crosswalk over the boulevard and the courtyard in front of the massive mosque. King looked at the building, seeing the bright white surface suddenly illuminated with spotlights, as the dusk deepened.
Then he turned back to the not-functioning fountain in front of them. He glanced down to the laptop, still open on Asya’s lap. He reached over and zoomed in on the satellite view of the fountain.
“This will be the entrance,” he said.
“I was thinking the same,” Asya closed the laptop, then reached into the nylon bag behind her seat and pulled out the two Sig Sauer pistols, handing one to King. She got out of the van and stood in the lot, looking at the fountain. King stepped out, slipped the grenade into the pocket of his jeans and retrieved the rifle from the back of the van. He slipped its strap over his head and shoulder. Although the lights illuminated the mosque at the end of the giant parking lot, the small park and fountain area were still dark. He reached in the van one more time for the LED flashlight.
“Should we check in with Deep Blue before going in?” Asya asked in a whisper.
“No need. He’ll know where we are within an hour, when a satellite passes. I have a micro-transmitter on me.”
“A micro-transmitter?” She eyed him up and down. “Where?”
He gave a lopsided grin. “Where no one would want to look.”
They made their way to the fountain. There wasn’t a drop of water inside.
“It is bone dry,” Asya said, stalking around the structure and looking for a lever of some kind.
King looked to the west into the trees of the small park. Then he understood.
“It was late.”
Asya looked at him for an explanation.
“The Forgotten. It was late getting back to the fountain. It was caught outside in the sun all day. It stayed in the shade of the park, probably hidden in a tree, or under one of those shrubs. As soon as the sun set, it retreated back to the fountain. This is the entrance.” King turned back to examine the stone fountain.
“I don’t see any symbols. Only abstract patterns,” Asya said.
“Of course,” King nodded. “It’s Islamic art. There won’t be any lettering or obvious symbols or shapes. Just geometric patterns. Plus, remember, this was Ridley’s place. The Society only took it over recently. There won’t be any obvious letter H.”
King lifted his leg and stepped into the empty basin of the concrete and marble fountain. As soon as he brought his full weight into the fountain, a loud crunching sound emanated from the stone. A portion of the floor slid away, revealing the upper rungs of a ladder.
“Isn’t that a risky design? Anyone could have found it.” Asya stepped into the fountain with King, as he began his descent into the darkness.
“No one ever takes the time to come here. You saw how quickly people hurried into the mosque, and then how quickly they bailed after prayer. Plus the fountain is empty. No one would give it a second glance — and they would never think to step inside of it.”
“A child—” Asya started.
“—is probably not heavy enough to trigger the hatch,” King finished.
Asya grunted in agreement.
The ladder descended just ten feet. King stepped off and to the side, allowing Asya to come down. His footsteps echoed telling him he was in a huge underground space. He left the flashlight off, not wanting to give away their position any more than the twilit sky would. He also wanted his night vision to adjust.
When Asya was off the ladder, the concrete opening slowly slid closed above them, entombing them in absolute darkness. A scratching noise tickled his ears. Then a small skitter. And a scrape. There were Forgotten here. King pulled up his Sig, prepared to keep the Forgotten at bay.
When he flicked on the LED flashlight, his hopes were suddenly dashed.
There were Forgotten here.
Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. They were in some kind of huge underground space and the Forgotten were all clustered in the dark, clinging to the walls, and hanging from the ceiling above them. When the harsh glare of the LED illuminated the space, they shrieked as one, with a rising tone like an alarm.
From directly behind him, King heard his sister’s thick Russian accent.
“Is never easy with you, is it?”
TWELVE
“Make no mistake,” Seth said, “the man you call Alexander Diotrephes is the historical Hercules. If he even is a man. But one way or the other, he has probably been alive for over 2500 years. We don’t know what he’s planning to do with the technology he’s gathered, but if he were to combine the dimensional technology you acquired and lost last year, with the other…items he has collected? Well, let’s just say he could blow a hole in the side of this planet that would leave the Earth looking like a crescent moon.”