He will betray you.
The mist directly ahead of him coalesced into a face, a ghostly image repeating the warning, now amplified to a stentorian roar.
He will destroy everything.
The face dissolved as Dodge punted the boat through, but the brief glimpse was enough for him to recognize the phantom his subconscious had conjured to give voice to his misgivings about Barron. Though they had met in life only briefly and under extraordinary circumstances, he nevertheless felt an intimate connection to the man.
“Captain Falcon. I guess this really is the land of the dead.”
The mist poured into the boat, taking on form and texture, and suddenly Captain Zane Falcon was sitting before him. He looked exactly as Dodge described him in the stories; handsome, with a strong aquiline nose, wearing a slightly faded military uniform, with his signature hatchet tucked in his belt. His piercing eyes commanded Dodge’s attention as his lips began to move. Baron Von Heissel is evil beyond redemption. Do not trust him. He will betray you. He will destroy everything.
“I kind of got that the first time you said it.” Dodge shook his head. Stupid. Don’t waste your breath talking to hallucinations. Get to the gate.
Falcon’s specter evaporated as Dodge gave the boat another push, and the gate came into view. The fog was thinner here, and he could see the surface of the river, trickling through the hanging tooth-like stalactites of naturally refined adamantine that hung down into the acidic water. One more thrust brought the prow up against the metal spikes, and he took hold of them with one hand to hold the boat in place.
He scanned the bank for the rest of the group, but saw no hint of their presence. Even the glow of their flashlights was concealed by the pervasive mist. He pushed down the lump of concern that was rising in his throat, and bent himself to the task to prying apart the bars of the naturally occurring portcullis. He carefully laid the punting pole in the boat, and gripped the protrusions with both hands experimentally pushing and pulling to see if there was any give. There wasn’t; the stalactites didn’t budge.
“Dodge.”
This time, the voice caught him unaware. Startled, he jumped almost jumped back, and only the fact of his grip on the spikes saved him from completely upsetting the craft. He felt the boat rock beneath him; the gunwales dipped perilously close to the acid surface.
“Dodge,” the voice repeated again, not Falcon this time, but someone even closer to his heart.
“Just another hallucination,” Dodge whispered, but this time he wasn’t convinced. Even as he told himself to ignore the voice, his found himself twisting around to look back into the fog.
“Padre?”
Father Nathan Hobbs stepped out of the dense vapors, walking it seemed on the surface of the acid river. He looked exactly as he had the last time Dodge had seen him, but his face was twisted with worry. Or was it pain? “Dodge. The prisoner has returned.”
Dodge shook his head, but his attempts to dismiss the phantom were futile. The Padre kept advancing. “You must prepare. The prisoner has returned. He will destroy everything.”
“The prisoner? Why would you call him that?” This is a hallucination; why would my subconscious call him that?
The Padre stepped over the boat, passing so close that Dodge thought he felt the whisper touch of Hobbs’ cassock brushing against his leg. The priest turned to him, commanding Dodge’s full attention. “You must be ready. The time is near.”
“What…?”
The Padre then reached out and grasped the stalactites, just below Dodge’s hands. The metal grew warm and soft in Dodge’s grip, and with almost no effort at all, he spread the spikes apart, creating a gap wide enough for the boat to slip through.
“Thank—”
Hobbs was gone.
Of course he’s gone. He was never there at all. It was a hallucination.
But the stalactites had moved, and the way out was now open.
A light flashed in his face, and Hurricane’s voice reached out to him. “Dodge, are you there?”
“I’m here.” He picked up the pole and punted the boat closer to the bank where his companions were gathered. “It’s open. I think we can get through.”
He studied their expectant faces. Nora’s eyes gleamed with admiration. Newcombe looked hopeful, while Fiona’s face expressed faint disappointment at having to leave yet another ancient wonder behind. Vaughn and Hurricane wore stern, wary expressions; they knew from experience that the battle was not over until the troops were safe at home. Barron, with his rucksack full of adamantine ore, could not hide his eagerness.
Evil beyond redemption… He will destroy everything.
Dodge shook his head, trying to banish the whispers of doubt and paranoia. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
But the Padre’s warning continued to echo in his head. The prisoner has returned… You must be ready.
What did that mean?
Like the antithesis of mythical Charon, Dodge ferried living souls up the Acheron and out of the underworld. It required three trips. Hurricane went in the first trip — along with Nora just in case the pale creatures were still there, poised to attack. The caution was thankfully unwarranted. There was no sign of the fierce animals; they had even taken away their dead. Dodge left Hurley and Nora on the bank, and threaded the small boat back through the opening to pick up Barron and Newcombe. Fiona and General Vaughn went in the final trip.
It wasn’t until he abandoned the boat and climbed up the riverbank that Dodge got a good look at the aftermath of the earlier attack and the cave-in he had triggered. A head-high pile of gritty adamantine-rich sand was heaped against the gate, completely blocking the hole through which they had passed. Somewhere beneath it lay the wreckage of the wave device.
“A pity it’s gone,” Barron said, but that was his only comment.
As the nominal authority on the paths of the underworld, Fiona led the way, with Hurricane close at her side, guns drawn to meet any threat. The rest of the group followed behind them, two by two when possible, with Dodge bringing up the rear. They moved quickly, without complaint, especially when passing beneath shadowy recesses that they knew might harbor the cavern’s pale denizens.
They reached the junction with the first tunnel much sooner than Dodge expected and soon were threading their way through the cramped passage. Although the narrow cave hampered their progress, the knowledge that they were almost free of the underworld’s embrace filled them all with a sense of urgency, and seemingly in no time at all, a glimmer of natural light greeted their eyes. At the rear of the pack, Dodge felt a growing impatience as the group seemed to hit a bottleneck at the exit. Finally, his turn came and he pushed free into the open air.
His joy was short lived. As he blinked against the harsh glare of the sun, he saw that they were not alone. Four men, Sorensen and three others wearing the uniforms of Majestic’s crew, stood in a line facing the hillside. Even before his eyes could adjust to the brightness, he saw that they were armed with Thompson sub-machine guns, and that the weapons were trained on his friends.
Chapter 17—The High Road to Trouble
Dodge came to a dead stop in the mouth of the tunnel. For an instant, he contemplated retreating back inside, but knew that would accomplish nothing.
As if reading his mind, Barron said, “Come out and join your friends, Mr. Dalton.”
Dodge complied with a grimace. One of the gunmen took his flashlight and brusquely motioned for him to join the rest of the group. Vaughn and Hurricane glowered at their captors, while the others simply looked confused. “I wish I could say this comes as a surprise, Von Heissel, but I never really trusted you.”