Queen reached into her blouse and pulled out the amulet recovered from the Argo. The worn Herculean Society symbol glittered in the sun. The man squinted, frowned momentarily, and then put on a warm smile. "Ahh, I see you have a special invitation then."
"We had hoped so," she replied.
The man thought for a moment, then headed for the cave entrance. "Follow me."
He led them through the large mouth of the cave, into the darkness beyond. The tunnel had been largely clear of debris, but the floor was all but invisible in the darkness. If not for the light ahead, allowing them to keep watch on the man's head, he could have easily left them behind. "You can lose the accents," the man said. "I know you're Americans."
Rook didn't bother asking how the man knew, and didn't argue the point. He dropped the accent and asked, "I didn't catch your name."
Alexander Diotrephes." He hurried on, into the light.
They entered a large chamber, lit by several standing halogen lamps. The floor was covered in a grid of intersecting strings — an all-out archaeological dig was indeed underway. Several workers looked up at them, watching with suspicious eyes, but none said hello. Alexander waved to them and they returned to work. "Please stay on the path. A single step could destroy thousands of years of history."
Rook took note of the two-foot-wide path, lined by strings. It wound its way through the cave. Whoever had laid down the path had meticulously worked their way through the cave, avoiding any and all archaeological finds, which were marked by small, bright orange flags.
"We have cata loged one hundred and twenty artifacts including knives, spear tips, and bone fragments. But our greatest discovery makes the rest of this seem trivial."
"The last holdout of the Neanderthals is trivial?" Queen asked.
Alexander stopped in front of the rear wall of the cave. It appeared as though they'd hit a dead end. He flashed a smile. "You wear the symbol of our founder," he said. "I'm sure you know his name."
"Herakles," Queen said, using the ancient pronunciation.
Alexander nodded, then stepped aside, revealing the Herculean Society symbol etched in the stone wall. He continued to the side and then disappeared into the wall. Queen and Rook followed after the man and found a cleverly disguised entrance that could only be seen up close. He waited for them in a dimly lit staircase. "What we have here is a citadel of sorts. This is where Hercules spent his last days on earth, teaching his ways to his followers, safeguarding his secrets and ensuring his status as a god among men."
"Then he wasn't a god?" Rook asked as he followed Alexander and Queen down a winding staircase, making sure to keep a watchful eye behind them. If things went wrong, the cave system was a strategic nightmare.
"Hardly. An amazing man. The most amazing man. Worthy of adoration and praise. But fully human. That is the legacy of the historical Herakles. The pinnacle of humanity. The bar for which we all grasp."
A solid wooden door blocked the way at the bottom of the stairway. Then he surprised them again by flipping open a faux rock and revealing a hand print identifying pad. He placed his hand on the pad, and waited as a blue light passed over his palm and fingers twice. The door unlocked and swung inward, allowing them entrance.
The room on the other side was as modern as it was large. While the stone walls, stalactite-covered ceiling, and ancient carvings revealed the cavern's age, the computer terminals, lab tables, and rows of refrigeration units spoke of a l ong-term, modern occupancy. If there had ever been evidence of Neanderthal occupation here, they had long since been crushed underfoot… or vacuumed off of the splendidly polished stone floor.
Rook felt sure that this is what Pierce must have suspected. And with no one else around, it was time to drop the ruse and get some answers. Rook drew Pierce's 9mm and aimed it at Alexander. "Sorry, buddy. But we're going to ask you some questions and we're going to need some answers. And fast."
Rook expected any number of reactions from the sizable man. He'd seen tougher men urinate, weep, and buckle at the knees when confronted with their own death. But Alexander reacted by grinning and chuckling. He knew something that allowed him to keep his calm, to the point of casually accepting the presence of a gun. He sat down on a stool, clasped his hands on his lap, and asked, "What is it you want to know? Hmm?"
As Queen and Rook looked into the now excited eyes of Alexander Diotrephes, they failed to notice the two figures approaching them… on the ceiling.
FORTY-SEVEN
Word about the man who had entered the blazing inferno spread through the campground faster than the fire could devour the house. The crowd swelled to nearly a hundred people. Women gasped as the story was told. Men explained why they hadn't charged in. Kids watched with wide, nervous eyes. King made a mental note of the teenager taking video of the scene on his cell phone. If Bishop made it out alive, that was one video that couldn't be allowed to make it onto YouTube. If he didn't make it…
King tried to ignore the possibility. But it had been nearly a minute since Bishop had entered the cabin.
The whine of fire engines sounded in the distance. Plymouth was responding quickly. If the fire spread, the whole campground could go up in flames. Just as King began to focus on the possibility of having to evacuate the campgrounds, an explosion blasted a hole in the cabin's roof. Smoke billowed from the fresh, four-foot hole. King shook his head in frustration. The place was falling apart. Bishop was—
The smoke split as a figure launched from the hole, clearing the remainder of the roof and plummeting two stories to the ground. A sound like snapping branches shot out as the man struck the ground. His legs had broken from the impact. The man fell to his side and rolled to his back, as if protecting something in his arms.
Despite the thick black coat of soot, King recognized Bishop's bulky form. Thor did, too. The dog whined at Bishop. No one else would recognize him, though. The kid with the video camera would probably make a small fortune from the video. He grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as an intense pain racked his body. He rolled onto his knees, holding his torso up with one and still clutching the other, and a thick blanket, to his chest.
King walked closer, wary despite knowing it was Bishop. Something didn't feel right. Part of him wanted to run over and support his friend who was clearly in severe pain. But another part of him, a voice he wanted to squelch, but couldn't, shouted just the opposite. Run.
Bishop should not have survived.
Still King moved closer.
Bishop's skin was twisted and bent. Beat red. Melted. The elephant man and Quasimodo combined had nothing on him. His breathing was deep and fast, rough and ragged. Primal. Frantic. He had been altered, inside and out, reshaped by flame into a monster.
The crowd saw this, too, and stepped back as King took another step forward. Motion on Bishop's face stopped him. Something was changing.
A woman hollered in fear and pushed her way back through the crowd. She'd seen what King was now seeing. Something impossible.
As Bishop began to bellow — in rage or pain, it was impossible to tell — his charred skin flaked away before their eyes, falling to the dirt road like soft feathers. Some pieces were caught by a breeze and carried off above the crowd. People ducked and shouted as the burned, papery flesh hovered in the air. As the skin fell away, it was replenished by a new layer. Fresh hair grew atop his skull, which had been burned bald in the blaze. The red, gnarled skin on his face smoothed and straightened. Thirty seconds after leaping from a burning building, nearly on fire himself, Bishop's shout sounded human again. He had been healed.