“Not possible,” Deep Blue’s electronic voice came over the speakers in the room. “How would he even power such a weapon?”
The three Ridleys smiled at Queen and the others. “In the last few years, your Chess Team witnessed our Creator revive the Hydra. You saw a virus that could stop hearts. You discovered an entire city of Neanderthals — still alive — living under a mountain in the jungles of Vietnam. You have seen the power of the mother tongue, the very language of God. King discovered the Elephant Graveyard in Ethiopia, and you…” Seth pointed to Queen, “…you escaped an amusement-park deathtrap and fought creatures that could only be described as…what? Werewolves? How can you — how can any of you — question anything at this point?”
The room fell silent for a moment. The litany of strange events they’d all survived conjured images of monsters, tortures and scars, some of which would never fade.
“As much as I hate to say it,” Knight spoke up from the corner of the room, “he has a point. Let’s not forget that hydra-dragon thing I fought in China too. At this point, I don’t think we can dismiss any possibility, no matter how unlikely it seems. Or how untrue we want it to be.”
“Alexander has been a fair-weather friend,” Bishop added from behind Queen. He had lowered his weapon, but his eyes remained trained on the three Ridley clones.
Seth looked up at the black speaker in the corner of the room. “Your people saw the tremendous power possibilities of the Bluelight project Graham Brown was working on. Alexander—Hercules—has that technology.”
Queen recalled the reports King had given of a man named Graham Brown who might have been masquerading as a worldwide computer network known as Brainstorm. The Bluelight project was a power system that operated on the principle of firing proton beams into a magnetic field, resulting in a plasma storm above the atmosphere, from which energy could be harvested. But the system was wildly unstable, and King had shut it down…permanently. Or so they had thought.
“Then there’s the matter of the miniature black hole,” Seth said, his face suddenly grim.
“The what?” Queen asked, startled. This was getting bad.
Deep Blue’s modulated voice answered. “He’s referring to the incident at the Louvre, two years ago. King stopped a black hole from eating Paris. Alexander was present. As far as we knew, all signs of the phenomenon were gone at the end of the incident.”
Seth grinned. “Review the security camera footage. A few of the cameras in the museum were powered by a battery backup. Even though the city was struck by a blackout and an earthquake, some of the cameras kept recording. Hercules removed a small token, when King wasn’t looking. Placed it in his pocket.”
“You don’t mean to suggest that an entire black hole was contained in something small enough to fit in a man’s pocket?” Deep Blue’s modulated voice did not intone the sarcasm, but Queen felt it would be present on his end of the conversation.
“The video shows him struggling to lift the object. A stone the size of a golf ball. How heavy do you suppose it must have been if the legendary Hercules nearly couldn’t budge it?”
Silence filled the room. Rook shuffled along the side wall, his weapon still pointed at the Ridleys. Queen could not see Bishop or Knight behind her, but she knew they would remain vigilant. The other Endgame soldiers kept their weapons trained on the seated figures.
Queen lowered her pistol and stepped closer to Seth. She squatted, placing her eyes level with Seth’s face.
“Could a miniature black hole be used to power that dimensional technology from Norway? To bring those things from the other side back here to Earth?”
“That dimension was theoretically only one dimension of a possibly infinite number. There could be far worse things out there. And yes, the energy contained in a black hole — no matter its size — could power anything. Theoretically, of course. No one has ever done it before…that we know of.”
Deep Blue’s voice buzzed into the room again, “What makes you think Richard Ridley can help?”
“With the mother tongue, the Creator is capable of anything. We three do not possess the mother tongue. But He does. He could simply unmake Hercules. He could stop the threat of the black hole and the dimensional technology all at once.”
“Or,” Deep Blue’s voice interrupted, “he might try to claim that technology for himself.”
Seth nodded grimly. “But, you are missing the point entirely.”
Queen raised a questioning eyebrow. She tried putting herself in Seth’s — or Richard Ridley’s — mental state, to guess what he meant, but she couldn’t see his side of things.
“Oh my God,” Deep Blue said through the speakers, after a minute.
“Yes. Exactly,” Seth smiled. “Do you really want a man that has the biological ability of regeneration, some kind of unnatural immortality, immense strength, unlimited power and the technology to tear holes between dimensions to suddenly acquire and possess the all-powerful language of God, as well?”
The moment spun out, with no one speaking.
Queen found herself looking at the black speaker up in the corner of the room, waiting for Deep Blue’s reply. When the words came, she knew there would have been resignation behind them, if she had heard the man in person. But she also knew it was the only possible response.
“Let’s make a deal.”
THIRTEEN
The space opened before King like an immense underground parking garage, with thick concrete support columns equally spaced and receding into the unlit portion of the echoing space. King’s LED light cast an arc of illumination fifty feet into the throng of shifting wraiths. It was enough.
Well, this sucks, he thought. He guessed the space likely stretched most of the length and breadth of the parking lot above and beyond. It seemed equally likely that it was filled with Wraiths.
But then he noticed something odd. The Forgotten were not attacking him and Asya. They were hissing and screeching, scampering along the ceiling of the space and on the wall behind him — even on the ladder, but they were keeping their distance.
King focused on the wraith closest to him. It was like the others — sickly gray skin, deformed facial features and a long tattered cloak. But it also held a look of curiosity. King watched as it appraised him, tilting its hairless head first one way, and then the other.
“Why do they not attack?” Asya whispered.
“Not sure,” King replied. As King spoke, the wraith closest to him stepped forward and hissed louder. Moving slowly, it brought its face just inches from King’s. Then it repeated the strange head movements, swaying as it turned its skull. A cobra dancing to an Indian snake charmer’s flute.
King moved his forehead closer, in the same manner, and now his face was an inch from the wraith’s. It hissed louder, but he sensed the hiss might be out of something else…appreciation or even submission maybe, but not a threat.
King took a chance.
“My name is Jack Sigler,” he shouted. “You might know me as King.” He moved the LED flashlight up as he spoke, as he had done in Malta, illuminating his face for the creatures to see his features. The Forgotten’s yellow reflective pupils dilated from the light, as its face elongated, and its eyes opened wider — as if in shock. Or maybe just really bad eyesight, King thought.