“At least we know that the War Department is calling the shots,” Hurricane interjected. “If and when Barron delivers this death ray, we know it won’t fall into the hands of an enemy nation. That makes me feel a little better about all this.”
“Yes, well…” Newcombe took a deep breath. “It may be a little more complicated than that.” He looked around, as if fearful that someone might overhear, and then in a low voice recounted what Barron had told him in secret. “Barron wants to build this weapon as a means to prevent wars, not win them.”
“Gatling thought the same thing when he built his gun,” Hurricane said. “Seems like someone always figures out a way around that little detail.”
Dodge read the conflict in Newcombe’s eyes. “Do you believe him?
“I believe he is sincere. But Hurricane is right. If history is any indication, this weapon will only lead to new, more terrible discoveries.”
An image of the wave generator in action, vaporizing the skeletons of the two attackers in the ruins of Alamut, sprang unbidden into his head. It was hard to imagine something more terrible than that, but he’d already seen evidence of what Barron had planned: the same weapon, but on a larger scale, large enough to destroy a building…
He thought about the perfectly round hole the generator had bored through solid rock, providing them with their escape route from the library. He had seen that circular pattern before, in the secret valley in Pennsylvania and deduced that the failed test of the bigger version of the wave generator had destroyed the blimp on which it had been mounted, but now that he understood the principle behind the device, and seen it in action, it was easier to visualize what had happened.
There’s still something I’m missing.
They followed Newcombe down a long, lavishly decorated hallway to large dining hall, lined with windows looking down on the world. Dodge saw mountains below, the same mountains they had skirted on their approach to Alamut, and in the distance to the north, the sparkling waters of the Caspian Sea.
Lafayette was there in the dining room, looking no worse for wear, and conversing with Nora and Rahman. The Iranian man seemed very agitated, and Dodge quickly became the focus of his attention.
“Where are they taking us? My automobile is in Qasirkhan; I cannot simply abandon it.”
Dodge didn’t know how to respond. As far as he was concerned, the villagers were complicit in the attack; Dariush had certainly been part of the plot against them. Dodge had no intention of ever going anywhere near Alamut again, and he wanted to tell Rahman that he should count himself lucky to still be alive, but ultimately the matter of their destination was out of his hands. “Our plane is still in Bandar-e Pahlavi,” he said. “I’m we sure we can convince our new host to drop us off there. After that, you can see to getting your car back.”
Rahman wasn’t pleased by this, but it was the best Dodge could do, and probably more than he had any right to promise.
Nora spoke up. “Rodney’s been telling me all about Mr. Barron. I’m sure he’ll do whatever he can to help.”
“I’d like to hear more about Barron.” Dodge took a seat across the table from the red-haired writer. “What’s his story?”
Lafayette offered a smug smile. “If I told you, you’d have no reason to buy the book I’m currently writing.”
Dodge’s only reply was an even stare, and after a few seconds, Lafayette relented. “Barron is an amazing individual. A modern Renaissance man. He was born in Europe, descended from the Habsburg dynasty — it’s no coincidence his company is named ‘Royal Industries.’ He fought in the Great War — on the wrong side, unfortunately — and when it was over, he devoted his life and fortune to finding a way to prevent wars of that sort from ever happening again.”
“By makin’ better weapons?” Hurricane drawled, rhetorically. “Peace through superior firepower, is that it? And he makes a pretty penny doin’ it all.”
“He doesn’t care about money. He already has more than he could ever spend.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of folks who’d love for him to share.”
Lafayette ignored the dig. “Mr. Barron is a visionary. All his efforts are turned to his singular purpose. If I could only tell you…” Lafayette shook his head. “No, I’ve already said more than he would want me to. But I can assure you, Mr. Barron is thoroughly dedicated to the cause of ending war.”
Dodge turned to Newcombe, curious to see if he had been similarly won over by Barron’s charisma. The scientist nodded, but Dodge noted that his brow was creased ever so slightly — it might have been apprehension, or it might have been the fact that he was squinting behind his glasses, which Dodge could tell obviously weren’t as thick or effective as his usual prescription.
Then, almost as if by magic, the frown vanished and Newcombe’s face lit up. “Fiona!”
Dodge rose to his feet as the archaeologist entered the dining room, waving a rolled up piece of paper like a war trophy. “The Avernus Crater near Naples. That’s where we’ll find the gates of Tartarus.”
She unfurled the paper — not an ancient document, but instead a modern map of Europe, on which she had marked a location with a red grease pencil. “It’s so obvious, really. Polybius used Homer’s account of the passage of time as a way of setting the maximum possible distance between the locations. It’s simply impossible that a sailing vessel could have been blown out into the Atlantic as some theorize; Odysseus never left the Mediterranean.
“When he set out to verify the Homeric account, Polybius recognized that Sicily and the Aeolian Isles were locations Odysseus had visited. He also pinpointed the Strait of Messina—” she tapped the spot on the map where the “toe” of the Italian peninsula almost touched the northeastern corner of Sicily, “as the most likely site for passage of Scylla and Charybdis, which Odysseus went through immediately after visiting the blind prophet Teiresias in the Underworld.” She drew her finger north, along the coast, until it met the spot she had marked.
“In ancient times, volcanoes were often believed to be gateways to the Underworld, so it’s no surprise that the passage to Tartarus would be found in the remains of a volcanic crater.”
“Not just in ancient times,” Newcombe interjected. “Many believe Jules Verne was onto something when he proposed that volcanic caves might lead to the earth’s core. Of course, it’s very unlikely that caves formed by volcanic activity would go quite that deep into the earth’s interior.”
Fiona blinked as if the supporting information was irrelevant. “According to ancient accounts, a deadly fume hung used to hang in the air above the Avernus Crater, killing the birds as they tried to fly overhead. It’s also where Aeneas went into the Underworld, so this location makes perfect sense. What’s significant about the account we found in the Alamut library is that Polybius describes the passage into Tartarus in great detail, including… get this… ‘gates of unworked adamantine.’”
“That’s most excellent news, Miss Dunn.”
All eyes turned to meet the newcomer to the room, a regal looking man wearing an immaculate blue uniform. Lafayette jumped to his feet as if he had been appointed to be the man’s official herald. “Gentlemen, may I present the master of the Majestic, Walter Barron.”
Dodge was about to move forward to greet the mysterious industrialist when he heard Hurricane’s voice, low and dangerous. “Actually, we’ve met.”
The big man stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes ablaze with a level of fury Dodge had never seen before, as he locked stares with Barron. “The hair is a nice touch. And I see you’ve lost some weight… Baron Von Heissel.”