Others were coming into the chamber. Behind the dog walkers were processions of four women, eight in all, walking in pairs. The women all had on long layered skirts made of overlapping material in blue, black and green. The short-sleeved tops they wore had necklines cut to the navel, exposing cleavage. The wide cloth belts wrapped around their waists emphasized the hips. Their hair was tucked up under flat, round caps.
These had to be the priestesses. They were in their twenties or thirties, Chad guessed, but their faces lacked the fresh allure that young women normally had at that age. Their hard features looked as if they had been chipped out of marble. Lush mouths were compressed into tight expressions that revealed no emotion. Heavy liner made the arc of their brows longer and more exaggerated so that their eyes looked larger than they were. The cheeks were rouged with make-up. Chad had spent enough time in drug-induced la-la land to know from their glazed, fixed expressions that the women were stoned out of their minds.
The leader of the procession was holding a clay vessel. Behind her marched a pair of priestesses who were playing flutes. The next pair of marchers held leafy boughs on their shoulders. They formed two lines and the music stopped. The priestess with the vessel stepped forward and offered it to Chad. Just follow instructions, Salazar said. He took the vessel and raised it to his lips. His first sip was tentative. Not bad. A little medicinal. Earthy, though, and slightly sweet. He took a second swallow and handed the vessel back.
Wham.
Chad had tried a lot of addictive substances, but nothing had ever acted with such speed. Not even speed. It felt as if someone had poured a glass of LSD directly into his brain. First came a flush of heat. He imagined his cheeks glowing red-hot. The hot flush passed and he felt a tingling from head to toe. He stared off at the wall. The colors glowed and pulsated. The painted figures seemed to move. The acrobats were vaulting between the horns of the bulls. The octopi and fish were dancing with each other.
His sense of hearing had become more acute. He could hear the swish of skirts and the soft padding of bare feet on the hard floor as the priestesses began to dance around him. He smiled as they morphed from humans into beautiful, whirling flowers.
The musicians started to play again. But the music that had been so awful when he first heard it was now beautiful. They chanted the same words again and again.
She is near. She must die.
The lead priestess was the most animated. She whirled around, her arms extended above her head. The circle of dancers moved faster and faster, the chanting louder. Chad was losing it. The chanting and music, the moving circle of glowing colors, the weird effects of the drugs—all were getting to him. He clutched the bull’s head closer so he wouldn’t drop it.
Then the lead priestess stopped dancing. The hands that had been flailing above her head dropped to waist level, palms down. She was facing the door. It was obviously the signal for the music and the dancing to stop. The priestesses had broken out of their circle. Their cheeks were still flushed from the orgiastic dance. At the head of each line was a blue-headed man holding a leash with a pit bull on steroids.
They formed lines on both sides again. With Chad in the middle carrying the bull’s head as if it were radioactive, they filed into the sanctuary of the high priestess.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Abby’s technical evaluation had been right on the mark when she said the water main would end in a cistern. Hawkins played the beam of his wrist light on the stone walls of the circular chamber, then he swam up until his head broke the surface. Calvin bobbed up beside him.
The cistern was around six feet across. He pulled himself up onto the low wall, then reached down to help Calvin with the bags. Once all their gear was out of the cistern, Calvin joined him at the edge of the pool.
Hawkins removed his mouthpiece and took a tentative sniff. “Air is musty and damp, but breathable,” he pronounced. He stood and walked around the cistern. “Getting Kalliste out this way could be a problem.”
“I’m thinking the same thing,” Calvin said. “We don’t know what shape Kalliste is in, but even if she’s okay, trying to muscle her back through that drainage pipe is not going to work.”
“Which means we stick with standard SEAL protocol. Get in one way and go out another.”
The cistern was at the center of a room around fifteen feet square that had only one doorway. They slipped the Draegers off their backs, leaving them with the spare unit they had brought for Kalliste, then peeled off their dry suits down to their camouflage uniforms. Calvin tied the drive-on rag around his head and Hawkins tucked his hair under his floppy hat. They picked up their gear bags and went through the doorway into a long, narrow room. There was a stone shelf along one wall with circular holes cut into it.
“Reminds me of the outhouse our family had, except ours was a one-holer,” Calvin said. “Guess the Minoans didn’t put a lot a value on privy-cy.”
“Looks that way, but I wasn’t privy to their thoughts.”
“Damn, Hawk, that was worse than mine.”
“Remember this moment the next time you feel the need to unleash your puns on a captive audience.”
A door connecting to a passageway is where they felt a slight breeze blowing. The corridor led to a tunnel big enough to drive a car through. Hawkins surveyed the walls and ceiling that dripped with moisture. The tunnel was a remarkable example of ancient engineering. He estimated the dimensions at around twenty feet across and ten feet high. Hawkins noticed that the lichen-splotched surfaces were honey-combed with cracks.
Hawkins had taken a photo of the Minotaur’s maze diagram with his tablet. Using the map as a guide, they soon found their way to the doorway pictured in the photo of Kalliste and the dog creature. Hawkins gazed up at the axe head lintel and pictured Kalliste standing in the doorway. Then, with Calvin standing watch, he checked the apartment, taking in the unmade bed, and the remnants of food on the table. There were pieces of the broken ceramic vessel on the floor. Something had happened here, and that worried him even more.
Hawkins stepped back into the passageway and shook his head. They set off along the tunnel at a fast trot and came to a junction where the passageway ended in a ‘T.’ The map showed that the right hand turn went to a blank wall. They turned left and picked up the pace, moving so fast that when a strange sound brought Hawkins to a sudden halt, Calvin almost bowled him over.
“What was that god-awful noise?” Calvin said.
The bawling sound that had brought them to a stop repeated itself. The noise sounded as if it were being made by an animal, but it had a mournful human quality to it as well.
“Whatever it is doesn’t sound happy. Maybe we should try to go around it.”
“No argument there,” Calvin said. When they checked the map they saw that they could only move forward and back. All the other outlets were dead ends.
Calvin slipped the CAR-15 off his shoulder. Hawkins took the Sig Sauer from its holster leaving one hand free to hold the map. As they continued down the passageway the bellowing grew louder. It seemed to echo from every part of the maze so that it was almost impossible to pinpoint its source at first. But as they made their way through the tunnel, it became apparent that whatever was making the noise was directly ahead.
The bawling combined with a new sound, a steady clop-clop, as if two coconut shells were being clapped together, like a scene from “Monty Python.” Hawkins brought the pistol up in both hands. Calvin lifted the CAR-15 to waist level.
They took a right turn and discovered they were no longer alone. Framed in the tunnel, silhouetted against a bluish back light, was what looked like a gigantic bull. It stepped forward, and wall sconces that must have been motion sensitive flicked on.
The animal was a bull, but only from the waist down. The lower body was white with splotches of brown. From the navel up, the torso was that of a muscular man who had abdominal muscles that looked as if they had been sculpted with a chisel. Ropey arms dangled by its sides. T
he face was a combination of man and animal. Protruding from each side of the wide forehead, sharp horns curved down and forward. Each one was at least a yard long. The nose was human, but the flaring nostrils were not. Thick lips defined the wide mouth.
“Man, that is one ugly cow,” Calvin whispered.
“I wish it were a cow,” Hawkins said. “It’s the Minotaur, the guardian of the Maze.”
“There’s no such thing as the Minotaur,” Calvin said.
“You tell that thing it doesn’t exist, Cal. I’m going to slowly make a retreat and recommend you do the same. Walk backwards around the corner. Duck into the doorway we passed on our right.” They stepped back. The maneuver triggered more snorts, but the creature stayed where it was. Emboldened, they kept moving, and gained a few yards before there was a change in the Minotaur’s bearing. The head had been held high in a position of watchful alertness. Now it dropped low. The elbows tucked into its sides.
With no longer any need to speak in a whisper, Calvin yelled, “He’s going for it, Hawk!”
The thunder of hooves filled the passageway.
Hawkins and Calvin ducked around the corner, ran about twenty feet and slipped into a side tunnel. The animal clattered past, the sharp points of its horns were extended like twin spears. Then it spun around, clopped back and stood in the entryway looking for the two men, who stood further in the tunnel with their backs flat against the wall.
The Minotaur’s head lifted and moved back and forth like a radar disk homing in on a target.
There was a jerkiness to its movements that wasn’t quite natural, although agility was top-notch. The quickness of its attack was amazing. He recalled what Molly had learned about the French company whose name he had seen on the diving bell. It was owned by Auroch, and made giant robotic mining equipment. The same technique could have been used to build the monster he was looking at.
“You were right,” Hawkins murmured. “That isn’t the Minotaur. We’re looking at a well-designed robot.”
“That makes me feel a lot better, Hawk. Now tell me how we pull the plug on that bag of bolts.”
“Not a chance. It must operate on batteries. Probably uses recharging stations scattered around this place. The legs must be on wheels, which means that the clop-clop was recorded. Damned amazing piece of engineering. I’d love to get a closer look at it.”
“You may get your wish.”
The bull’s head had stopped its back and forth motion and was lowering, the signal for a charge. Hawkins was impressed with the robot’s learning ability when he saw it advance cautiously into the tunnel rather than rush after them as it did before. He wondered if the machine knew that they were in a dead end.
“We may have a problem, Calvin. That thing could have been programmed with the maze’s layout and given some sensing apparatus to keep track of its own movements.”
“Which means it’s biding its time because it knows we’re trapped.”
“You got it.”
“How long before it rushes us again?”
“Its circuits are probably telling it we can’t go anywhere. It will keep up that pace and make its rush when it’s almost to us.” He clicked the safety off his pistol. “Aim for the eyes. If we put the camera lenses out of commission we might still have a chance to make a run for it.”
“Got a better idea,” Calvin said. “Gator repellent.”
He unzipped the golf bag, pulled out a Spike missile and snapped it into the launcher, which he raised to his shoulder. Hawkins watched his friend squint through the launcher’s viewfinder.
“Oh hell, Calvin,” he said.
“What’s the problem, Hawk?”
“You’re going to blow that thing off the map. It’s an incredible piece of engineering. I’d love to get a look at its insides.”
“Unfortunately, it probably wants to get a look our insides, too. Uh-oh.”
The creature was starting to pick up speed, but still moving at a fast walk.
“This isn’t exactly like putting Old Paint out of its misery. It’s nothing but a machine.”
“Yeah, I know, but—” Hawkins had noticed a slightly different motion. Rather than keeping its arms by its sides, the creature had extended them and formed the hands into giant claws. Having missed on its first charge, it was preparing to grab its targets if they tried to slip by.
“But what, man?”
“It’s about to attack. Wait until it’s closer to get a clean shot.”
“Okay. Tell me when and hit the dirt.”
The robot was less than thirty feet away and was picking up speed. The head had stopped twitching and was starting to lower. The attack had begun.
“Now!” Hawkins shouted.
The Minotaur accelerated and quickly halved the distance. There was a loud whoosh as the missile left the launcher. In a normal shoot, Calvin would have watched the missile and directed it to its target, but after he fired he threw the launcher down and slammed belly-first next to Hawkins onto the hard floor. They covered their ears but the shock of the explosion in the confined space pummeled their eardrums. They felt the shock wave flow over their bodies. Pieces of hot plastic and metal rained down on their backs.
Smoke filled the tunnel. Calvin handed Hawkins one of the gas protection units he’d packed. Goggles protected the eyes and the units had small, compressed air tubes with regulators attached. He and Hawkins bit down on the plastic mouthpieces and crawled along the floor where the smoke was the thinnest and their wrist lights were somewhat effective. They had to avoid chunks of glowing debris scattered on the floor. Once past ground zero, they stood in a half-crouch and made their way to the end of the passageway. As they turned back into the main tunnel, there was a rumble and the horrendous crash of what sounded like an avalanche.
“Sounds like the roof just caved in,” Calvin said.
Hawkins remembered the cracks he had seen in the tunnel walls.
“I think that’s exactly what it was.” He glanced up at the tunnel ceiling and saw that it was covered with a network of cracks similar to those in the side passageway. “I think we’d better pick up our pace.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Lily stood in front of the altar in the sanctuary, praying for a sign from the Mother Goddess when she felt the tremor under her sandals. A rapt smile came to her face. The goddess had heard her voice. She was shaking the earth deep in the Labyrinth to signal eagerness for the sacrifice.
Lily gazed down on the lovely face of Kalliste who lay in a fetal position on the sacrificial table between the sacral horns. Her arms and legs were trussed with rope and she was heavily drugged. Lily’s heart welled with happiness as she thought back to the first sacrifice she had attended so many years before.
She and the other young priestesses were standing in a grove of trees around the victim, a lamb that lay on a platform in much the same position as Kalliste. This was long before the High Priestess became the withered crone in the Paris sanitarium. She was in her eighties, but her pale, translucent skin was still tight against her cheekbones.
Lily remembered the flash of sunlight on the dagger blade, the last pitiful bleat and the bright river of crimson against white wool. With blood dripping from the dagger, the crone had looked up from her work to gauge the reactions of the young girls. Some had covered their eyes. Others stood with mouths open in shock. The crone’s blue eyes had fastened on Lily, whose face showed neither fear nor loathing, but rather cold interest. She had smiled, and from that moment, Lily had been groomed as her successor.
The High Priestess was dead, but she would never die. Her spirit had merged with all the high priestesses before her to be reborn in the great goddess Potnia, the Lady of the Labyrinth. Potnia, herself, was a combination of all the Minoan deities—the Snake Goddess, the Goddess of the Earth and the mistress of the animals, Britomartis.
By impersonating the goddess, Lily would become the goddess in an epiphany that gave her complete control over the Way of the Axe. Once s
he had made the transformation, she would speak with the voice of the goddess. There would be no hesitation when she ordered the priestesses to tear Salazar to pieces. The Mother Goddess would be pleased with the double sacrifice and shower the faithful with good fortune. The success of the operation in the United States would be ensured. Lily would take control of Auroch Industries and expand her power around the globe.
She looked up at the mummy of the High Priestess sitting on its throne. Under the influence of the opiates she had taken to prepare for the ceremony, she imagined that the leathery features of her predecessor’s face once again glowed with health and life. This was not a four-thousand-year-old pile of withered flesh and brittle bones. She saw the lips widen in a smile. The voice of the long-dead priestess filled her head.
She must die.
Lily heard the piping of the flutes. Once Salazar brought in the rhyton the ceremony would begin.
Soon, Mother. Very soon.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Chad tried to fight off the drug that had dug its talons into his brain, but the hallucinatory effect was powerful. Luckily, it was short-lived. The dancing flowers that had whirled around him transformed back into the hard-faced priestesses, although their colorful robes still glowed as if they were on fire.
The flutes and the lyres started up again. The priestesses began to chant in the weird language. The music was less frenzied, more like a funeral dirge, which didn’t make Chad feel any better.
The procession filed through the open door and into a great hall. Chad gripped the bull’s head close to his chest as if it could ward off the evil that seemed to surround him. The chant echoed off the ceilings and walls of the vast room. His eyes darted right and left, taking in the colonnades of red columns that ran along the walls. He stored the layout in his brain so he wouldn’t have to think about it when it was time to make his move.
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