“That’s the Marines,” Adam replied. He and my father laughed—Adam quickly adding, “I promise, we haven’t left him behind. He’s in the safest place he can be for now.”
“Jason didn’t make the roof,” I said.
“He missed the landing?” My father glanced at Adam knowingly.
Assuming Jason’s still alive, I thought, by the time these two get done ribbing him, he’s going to wish he wasn’t.
“Is Gabriel in pain?” Antonio asked.
“He seemed mostly concerned about shooting Ravens,” Adam said.
“What if I run Antonio up there?” I suggested. “It’ll just take a minute, and it’s not as if we’re being overrun here.” I looked around. “In fact, shouldn’t we have met more resistance?”
“You’d have thought,” my father said. “But there had to have been at least a dozen of them heading out the gate when they brought us in.”
“They looked terrified,” Antonio said.
“They did.” My father thought for a moment, then looked at me. “Actually, I’d rather have you stay down here. Adam, you take Antonio up. Just make it snappy though.” My father turned from the temple and looked across the marble floor at the opening to a hallway. “That looks like the administration part of this facility. We’ll start checking that out while you’re gone.”
“Yes, sir.”
After Adam and Antonio left, my father, Mary, and I started down the hallway, hunting through what appeared to be typical corporate offices for where they might be holding Adella. Finally, we came across a door with a security keypad much like the one outside the interrogation room in Naples.
Before I could offer my help, my father fired two rounds into the door’s latch and kicked it in.
“Well, sure, if you’re going to shoot it,” I said.
Inside the room, we found Jason, Isabella, and four Apollonian protestors from the south gate, feet and hands bound with nylon ties.
At the opposite end of the room was another door. I rushed past my father and kicked it open. Inside, I found nothing but a table and a few chairs under a flickering fluorescent light.
“It’s clear,” Jason said as my father cut his hands free. “They stuck us in here, muttered some crap about having done their jobs, and left.”
Jason cut his ankles free with my father’s knife while Mary and I helped the others.
“We have Pierre to thank for that,” Isabella said, examining the stitches on her arm. “He was the one who spread the word. Now the Ravens all know the truth.”
“Truth?” I cut the restraints of one of the protestors. “What truth?”
“That the Ravens aren’t the Descendants. That the real Descendants are here in Italy and will kill any Raven who gets between them and the scrolls. After you destroyed the Naples security headquarters, they knew he was telling the truth.”
“And why would Pierre, Director of International… whatever, do that?” I asked.
“Because he’s undercover,” Isabella said. “He’s actually an Apollonian high priest.”
“He didn’t seem so priestly to me.”
Adam appeared at the door.
“Packaged delivered?” my father asked.
“Yes, sir.” Adam looked pointedly at Jason. “That’s now twice that I’ve made it to the roof.”
“Jackass,” Jason muttered.
“Hey, hey, hey…” My father patted Jason on the shoulder. “You made it inside the fence. We know you did your best.”
“You two are hilarious,” Jason said, accepting a rifle from Adam.
“Okay, listen up,” my father said. “It seems the majority of the Ravens have scattered. So Adam, you and Jason take these four and see about hooking up with the Apollonians at the south gate. That should give you enough firepower to take control of the site. Then get Gabriel some medical attention. We’re going after Adella and the Eureka Formula.”
“Yes, sir,” both men responded in unison.
“Adella’s being held on the lower level,” Isabella said. “It’s their security floor, right before the cave system.”
“Do you know how to get there?” my father asked.
“I’m pretty sure.”
• • •
Isabella led us to a bank of elevators beside a loading bay. “This is it,” she said, pointing. “The elevator with the black doors. Pierre said it goes down sixty meters to the lower level. But if there are Ravens down there, they’ll definitely be waiting for us.”
“And once those doors open,” Mary said, “we’ll be sitting ducks.”
My father walked toward the loading bay door and looked through its Plexiglas window. “Does that elevator have a really high load capacity?” he asked.
“Sixty thousand pounds,” I said, reading from a wall plaque. “What are you thinking?”
“Come on, we’ve got work to do.” He opened the bay door. On the other side were hundreds of bags of sand and cement.
“You’re going to make the elevator into a fortress?” Mary asked.
“That’s right,” my father said.
Working together, and using a utility cart, we quickly arranged a three-foot wall of sandbags at the front of the elevator. Then we began our descent.
The air became cooler and damper as we sank into the earth. On a screen to the right of the elevator’s doors, a display gave us our depth in meters. After what seemed like an eternity, the numbers went away and a symbol appeared.
“That’s the symbol for Aries,” Mary said. “It’s the first sign of the zodiac. This is probably where the lower level begins.”
We readied our rifles and crouched behind our makeshift wall. The elevator thumped to a stop, and the doors opened. Before us was a twenty foot by twenty foot cement-walled room. This was clearly a loading area of some kind—perhaps a short-term repository for their construction materials. I could see welding equipment and a stack of angle irons off to the left. On the far wall was an open doorway onto a cement hallway leading off to the right.
And from around the corner to that hallway, a squad of Ravens appeared and opened fire.
We returned fire.
Bullets tore into our sand and cement fortification, some shots ricocheting off the wall behind us. On the other side of things, the cement corner the Ravens were hiding behind was chewed to bits.
After several exchanges, I tossed my rifle aside and started using my pistols.
Another exchange ensued, and after a moment, everyone except for Mary stopped firing.
“Hey, hey, hey…” I tugged on Mary’s fatigues.
“What?” She ducked behind cover.
“Listen. I think they left.”
We peeked over the wall.
“Good,” my father said, setting his rifle aside. “I’m out. How much ammo do you guys have left?”
“I’m down to one pistol, one clip,” I said. “Three—no, four rounds.”
Mary had only five rounds in her rifle, but Isabella had used up her pistols.
“We still have grenades,” Mary reminded us.
“I think a grenade going off underground is probably a bad idea,” Isabella said. “In fact, I’m not so sure about all this gunfire.”
We climbed over our fortress wall, and Mary and I cautiously made our way over to the far side of the room. I peered around the corner and down the long hallway. It was clear.
“Do you hear that?” I asked, turning toward Mary.
“Sounds like a bunch of Slinkies,” she said.
I looked at her quizzically as I listened.
“You know, those toys that walk down stairs—”
“I know what a Slinky is. Okay… maybe. A little.”
I looked around the corner again. This time I saw twelve men in exoskeletal suits marching toward us.
Mary peeked around me. “Holy crap: robots!”
I pulled her aside before they spotted her, and we reported back to my father and Isabella.
“Pierre told me the Ravens
were testing some kind of bionic exoskeletal suits,” Isabella informed us. “They’re not really designed for fighting, just for lifting things. But he also said the Ravens’ elite security team had talked about using them for hand-to-hand combat.”
“If they’re unarmed,” my father said, “we might stand a chance. But if they have weapons… well, cave-in or not, we’re using grenades.” He looked at Mary, who handed him her rifle. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll take down as many as we can, and maybe the rest’ll run.”
My father and I went over and peeked around the bullet-riddled corner of the hall. The machine men were about thirty yards away, and they had no cover.
“Take clear, precise shots,” my father said. “Should be like picking off ducks in a barrel.”
We got into position, him high, me low, carefully took aim, and fired.
The first one I hit center mass, perfectly threading a shot through its metallic rib cage. It veered off course, bumped into another machine, and fell over. The other machine men we hit went down in a similar fashion. We kept firing until we’d used up all our remaining ammo, but seven machines still remained on their feet, still approaching.
My father and I retreated into the elevator room. My father instructed Mary and Isabella to get inside the freight elevator behind the sand and cement wall.
I picked up one of the cement bags and looked at my father. “Just keep feeding me the ones that are the least damaged.” I gestured as if throwing the bag.
“I get it. Good idea.”
When the exoskeletons turned the corner and started across the floor, I hurled the first bag at them. It toppled three machines like bowling pins, and gray exploded everywhere, as if some kind of powder bomb had gone off. Through the fog, I could see the three machine men getting back up. “We might want to switch to sand,” I suggested to my father.
“One step ahead of you.” He tossed me a sandbag.
Again and again, I knocked the machines down. Again and again, they got back up, the men inside swearing in Italian.
Eventually, one of them got close enough that I had to grab it by its hydraulic arms, and my father got caught wrestling with another one. My machine slammed me into the wall, and I kicked it in the chest, sending it into two others.
“How the hell are we going to stop these things?” my father called out, as he ducked to avoid the claw-like hands of another machine.
“See if they have an off button,” Mary hollered.
“Thanks,” I replied sarcastically—then actually looked for one.
One of the machines reached over the arm of the one I was wrestling and almost got me by the neck. I just barely avoided it.
“Henry, I think it’s grenade time,” my father said, still dodging the machines and clearly getting fatigued.
“I’ve got one ready,” Mary said from the elevator.
“Don’t!” my father and I both shouted.
“I know,” Mary replied. “The whole place could cave in.”
“Mary, let me have that thing.” With a quick movement, I slipped away from the machine I was wrestling with and ran toward her. “You and Isabella, take the elevator back up—”
“Henry!” Mary cried. “Behind you!”
Without even turning, I dropped to my knees and reached back over my head. My hands closed on the skeletal beast’s ribs. I rocked forward, hauled the thing over my head, and brought the machine crashing onto its back on the floor.
The room quaked.
“Holy mother of—” my father exclaimed. “Henry, nice move. Here, have another.” He caught one of the machines off balance and pushed it in my direction. I flipped it onto its back in the same manner. Both downed machine men appeared unable to right themselves.
“Henry,” Mary said.
“What?”
“They’re like turtles.”
“Thanks.”
“Henry.”
“What?”
“Behind you!”
I flipped another machine onto its back.
Soon we were down to the last one. But with the limited floor space and the fallen exoskeletons snapping at us like lobsters, turtling this one was no easy task.
Eventually, out of frustration, I grabbed the last machine by its arms while my father tore off one of its side panels, ripped out two arcing wires, and jammed them into the man’s chest.
“Clear!” he shouted, and we pulled our hands free, letting the man and machine fall to the ground.
“Now that’s a nice bit of work.” My father slapped his palms together, creating a poof of gray smoke.
I dusted my hands on the sides of my fatigues and looked around.
Mary stepped over what was left of our fortification, and staying out of reach of the machines, she joined us. While the three of us discussed what to do with the exoskeleton-encased Ravens, Isabella spoke to them in Italian.
After a minute, she joined us as well.
“If we disconnect their power supplies,” she said, “they can’t get out of those suits. They seem to prefer that to being killed. They think that’s what you’ve been discussing.”
“What do you think?” my father asked, looking at me.
“Why not? They don’t look too uncomfortable.”
Mary and Isabella agreed.
“All right,” my father said to Isabella. “Tell them if they try anything while we’re working on them, we’re going back to option one.” He gave one of the machine men the evil eye.
“Hey, look.” Mary pointed at the logo on the leg of one of the machines. “They’re Hondas.”
“That’ll teach them to not buy American,” my father said.
I rolled my eyes.
Minutes later, having converted the exoskeletons into one-man prisons, we started down the hall—basically a ten-foot-wide by ten-foot-high cement tube. We found several offices, a supply room, and, just before the hall turned ninety degrees to the left, a room with a sign that read, “Aries Level – Interrogation Room.”
My father tried the knob, but it was locked. “Well, we have no bullets to shoot this one out. Ideas?”
I went back down the hall to the supply room where I had seen some welding equipment, grabbed a depleted acetylene tank, returned, and slammed the base of the tank into the latch. Then I stepped back and kicked the door in.
Adella and Pierre sat across from each other at a table, their hands and feet bound.
“Guess who?” Mary said, squeezing in front of me, brushing back her golden hair.
Adella squinted. “The Descendants?”
Chapter 16
We freed Adella and Pierre from their nylon shackles and brought them up to date on the Sito Archeologico di Velia assault. Adella, in turn, informed us of how Pierre had stalled her interrogation until he himself was placed under arrest.
“Once word came down about what you did in Naples,” Pierre said to me and Mary, rubbing his wrists, “even the most devout Raven refused to harm her. They knew the two of you were on your way.”
“And I guess we’re just chopped liver.” My father looked at Isabella. “You know, I hate to rain on the blessed ones’ parade, but how can Henry possibly be one of the Descendants and I’m not?” He folded his arms over his chest.
“The appearance of the Descendants is foretold in a number of ancient accounts,” Pierre said. “In one of the most detailed, after a fierce battle off the coast of—”
“Hold on, hold on,” my father interrupted.
“I’m trying to tell you about the scrolls and how to identify the Descendants,” Pierre said.
“And I’m sure it’s all very entertaining. But let’s save the mythic tales for later. Right now, we need to find the formula.”
“And the scrolls,” Isabella said.
“Of course. And the scrolls,” my father agreed.
• • •
Pierre led us to a section of the lower level he called the “Aries Hub.” Along the way, square cement walls gave way to rounded ro
ck, and the lighting changed from overhead fluorescents to wire-strung bulbs.
The Aries Hub, a cathedral-sized room with stalagmites and stalactites, looked like the maw of an enormous piranha. The incandescent lighting—no doubt strategically placed—made long, sharp shadows of its teeth. Around its perimeter were thirteen unevenly spaced cave entrances, some small and irregular, some gaping and symmetrical, but all with symbols carved into the wall next to them.
“Which one?” my father asked Pierre.
“I don’t know.” Pierre looked around the room. “This is as far as I’ve ever been permitted to go.”
“Well,” I said, “depending on how far these caves go, this could take days.”
“Then we’ll just have to figure out which is the right one,” Mary said. She walked around the room, looking carefully at the symbols by the entrances and, using her flashlight, peered into several of the caves.
My father looked at me and raised an eyebrow that said, Does she know what she’s doing?
I shrugged.
After a moment, Mary turned to us and began pointing at the various entrances in turn. “That’s Gemini. That’s Leo. That’s Libra, Pisces… and that one, that’s the one that doesn’t belong.” She stared at the cave’s symbol. “Corvus—that’s the Corvus constellation. This is the cave we need to follow.”
“Mary, what are you talking about?” I asked.
“The symbols are constellations. And Corvus, unlike the others here, isn’t a part of the zodiac. All the others are zodiac constellations. And, of course, Corvus…” She stopped and looked at Isabella.
“Corvus is Latin for raven,” Isabella said, walking toward the Corvus cave entrance.
“But there’s more,” Mary added excitedly. “If you look inside the caves, at how they branch off—at least as far as I can see—I think the constellations are maps.”
“Maps of what, the caves?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Mary,” I said, “how could the constellations be maps of the caves? The constellations are fixed stars. Are you suggesting the caves are manmade?”
“Yeah—that doesn’t make sense.” Mary thought a moment.
“Mary,” Adella said quietly. “You know the answer to this.”
“Oh, wait!” Mary raised her index finger. “I know, I know! It’s because the constellations are manmade. Not the stars, of course, but the connect-the-dot pictures that are the constellations.”
The Scrolls of Velia Page 16
