by David Welch
He pulled out onto the road. It ran north through a narrow mountain valley, swerving along the base of the slope, close to the river. He was tempted to drive slowly to make sure that Lenka’s people were following, but didn’t. He drove a bit over the speed limit, like any normal driver. Lenka’s people already knew what his SUV looked like, so they’d recognize it if they saw it stopped. He didn’t have far to go, only a mile or so to where they’d ditched the car days before, when they’d made the climb to Olympus. He found the spot, a short path that trailed off a few yards from the road. He pulled the car in, positioning it behind several trees as though he were taking precautions to stay hidden.
Stepping from the car, he scanned the area again. He doubted anyone could see him yet, but he had to play the part, just in case. Moments went by, and a quartet of old-looking vans came up the road, staggered to appear as if they weren’t a group. One by one they drove past the spot where he’d parked the SUV, continuing on, like anybody trained in tailing a quarry. He watched them go, then turned and started up the slope.
The forest came down to the road at this point, giving him decent cover. This was a problem, because he had to be seen, but couldn’t look like he was trying to be seen. So he moved slowly up the slope, ducking from tree to tree as if trying to stay concealed. Behind every tree he paused, cocking his head to give a listen to the forest below him.
Silence. Some birds chirped here and there, but for the most part the forest was dead quiet. Crouching low to take advantage of some obscuring brush, he gazed down the slope, watching.
For a long while there was nothing, then a slight flicker. A figure moved through the woods, using every tree and brush to try to camouflage himself. Others flitted in behind him, moving with the same competence and stealth. They were slightly better at this than they had been at tailing, though nowhere nearly as good as Special Forces types would be. Satisfied, Ares crouched low and darted up the slope. His eyes watched the ground closely, his feet touching down where they would make no noise. He moved a hundred yards up the slope, then paused behind another tree. Behind him he heard the gentle rustling of bodies passing bushes, and the occasional snap of a twig. An untrained ear would have thought it the normal background noise of a forest, no doubt brought on by squirrels and birds scampering about in the undergrowth. But Ares wasn’t fooled. A quick look revealed the figures continuing up the slope, stopping every so often to scan and look. The soft noises continued for a few more seconds, then stopped.
Ares risked another look. He could see several figures, obscured by brush, the types of figures a layman wouldn’t catch. As hard as they were to see, it was clear to Ares they had stopped. They weren’t pursuing him.
They lost me, he realized.
He started up the hill again, moving about ten yards before purposely stepping on a stick. It snapped, the sound slight but loud enough to notice for somebody listening for it. Moving behind another tree, he waited, and heard the rustling behind him once again. They’d taken up the chase once more.
He kept up the ruse, ascending and waiting, making sure to make just enough noise to be heard. Part of him felt offended by it all. He could have climbed the slope without being heard. He was good at sneaking around in forests. Dozens of dead Viet Cong were testament to that. Hell, he probably could have crept in among these thugs and slit a half-dozen throats before they realized he was there. But then he’d be killing mere thugs, not Lenka. And Lenka wasn’t stupid enough to be following without a half-dozen men acting as his personal guard. Ares reined in his nagging ego and stuck with the plan, leading his enemies toward Olympus.
About seven hundred feet above the valley, he came to the rock-fin. There Artemis was waiting, as planned.
“They’re behind you?” she asked in Vesclevi. Her tone didn’t match her words. She sounded light and unconcerned, as if she were just a person having a casual conversation with a friend.
“In force,” Ares replied, forcing his tone to be equally light. “Of course, Lenka’s sending the thugs first to test the waters. He’s probably bringing up the rear.”
“Sure you don’t want me to snipe a few with my bow? It’s really quiet,” she said.
“Can’t risk them knowing that I know they’re following me,” he replied, “or Lenka calls it off. Stick with the plan. They catch us ‘off guard,’ and we flee into the cave.”
“Fine,” Artemis huffed. Her head perked up, her ear catching a sound. Ares knew from long experience that there probably wasn’t a person alive better at distinguishing sounds in a forest than his sister.
“Time to get into character?” he asked.
“Of course it is!” she shrieked frantically in Vesclevi. “Run! They found us!”
She sprinted into the cave. Ares turned violently, making more noise than he ever would normally. He pulled his pistol and fired blindly into the woods. He laid down a spattering of fire, aiming at several points. Perfect cover fire. He heard rustles of brush as his pursuers ducked to the ground.
“Lock it up!” he cried in Vesclevi, sprinting after Artemis. “Close the damn door!”
Lenka heard the chattering above. He didn’t know what language it was, but didn’t need to. He heard the excited shouts and knew his people had been seen.
“What’s going on up there?!” he whispered hoarsely into his headset.
“Artemis is here!” came Nicholai’s voice. “She and Ares just went into a—”
Nicholai stopped, then barked some harsh commands at people nearby. There was a buzz of fast words, kept as low as possible, but still forceful. In the background Lenka heard Serbian being spoken, and the rustle of hurried footfalls.
“Nicholai!” Lenka snapped.
“Two of the Serbs went into the tunnel!” Nicholai grumbled.
“What tunnel?” Lenka asked.
“The cave Ares and Artemis fled into. It tunnels into the mountain,” Nicholai explained.
“Well, stop those idiots!”
“No use. They’re already in,” Nicholai replied.
Lenka ground his teeth, his eyes seeing red.
“Fucking cut-rate thugs,” he grumbled. “I’ll be up in a second. Make a perimeter around this cave, hold until I get there.”
He clicked off the headset. In his hands he carried an AK-74 rifle. Most of his people had the same. He shifted the weapon to eye level, and began advancing the two hundred yards separating his party from the bulk of his people. Arkady fell into line next to him, five other members of his group fanning out as they went. Two lagged behind, dragging Athena between them. She stumbled up the hill, her head lolling low. She’d been sedated before they pulled her from the car, and was only semicoherent. Lenka needed her. She might be of use, given the countless safe houses and hideaways the Olympians had stashed around the world. Yet he couldn’t let her be too lucid. For all her flaws she was still a capable and cunning woman, and letting her think for herself in the field was a quick way to get led into an ambush. And she was only too willing . . .
Despite her sluggishness, they advanced quickly through the forest. Unlike in California, there was nobody shooting down on them this time. But Lenka felt uneasy all the same. Caves were not good places for firefights. A tunnel defended with a handful of crates could create a formidable barricade. And even if they could surprise Ares, Lenka hated to think what the man might do at close quarters, in the dark.
They arrived at the cave. Most of the men were near the entrance, a half-dozen fanning out just above it to act as sentries. Nicholai was near the entrance, his gun aimed into the darkness.
“How many went in?” Lenka said, moving to the opposite side of the cave. The other mercs clustered around him.
“Three, they—”
Gunshots rang out. Everybody flinched back, away from the cave mouth. Seconds passed, and the fire died off. Lenka motioned three men forward, then gestured for them
to stop and hold for his signal. Footsteps echoed from the cave. One of the Serbians emerged.
“We found him!” the man said between breaths, in accented Russian. “He was trying to close a steel door. Goran fired at him, scared him off. The door is open!”
Lenka watched the man warily, more out of distrust of the situation than anything he had said. He’d lost so many men at the hands of these people that he had a hard time believing luck could break his way. He turned to his mother.
“What’s in there?” he asked.
Athena’s eyes drifted this way and that, fighting to focus. Lenka grabbed her by the chin and yanked her face in front of his.
“What . . . is . . . in . . . there?” he repeatedly slowly.
She managed to pull out of her swoon and look toward the cave. If she recognized the place, she gave no sign.
“Bats . . .” she whispered, before her head lolled backward drunkenly.
Lenka sighed and shook his head. He hated to see her like this. The impact of killing her brothers and sisters in front of her would be so much lessened by her being drugged. But given how little control he had over the situation, he preferred to play it safe and neutralize her as a threat.
“You three,” he said, turning back to the men he’d motioned forward. “Go in and past this door. If it’s clear, send a man back to report.”
The three nodded, looking anxious. They filed in, guns up and ready. Long minutes passed with no shots or sounds of any kind emerging. Finally one of them reappeared.
“If they were there, they’ve fled,” the man said. “It opens up into a large cavern. Looks like a tomb of some sort.”
Lenka worked his jaw back and forth, fighting the uncertain feeling in his stomach.
“We move in, guns ready. Get your lights ready too.”
“No need,” the man said. “They left the lights on.”
“The cave has lights?”
The man shrugged. “It’s full of old statues and supplies. Looks like they were planning on sticking around for a while.”
“Trying to wait you out?” Nicholai wondered.
“Maybe,” Lenka grumbled. “We know all of them left New York for here, but we only know of two that are here for certain. Ares and Artemis.”
“Wouldn’t make sense for them all to be here,” Nicholai figured. “They’d improve their chances by splitting up.”
“Yes,” Lenka said. He still felt a nagging doubt. They had come together in Big Sur, despite being hunted. They’d believed he wouldn’t be able to find the location. He wouldn’t have repeated that mistake were he in their situation. And he wouldn’t allow himself to believe that any location was beyond the reach of his enemy. So, logically he could expect only some of the immortals to be here.
He wondered if Ares even had his daughter here. Despite the man’s attempts to make a deal, Lenka doubted that Duscha was in this cave. If something had happened to Ares at the meeting, Duscha would remain a valuable bargaining chip for the remaining immortals. But Duscha not being here didn’t mean Ares wasn’t calling his family, telling them that Lenka had scotched the deal.
Which meant his daughter could already be dead.
“Fucking idiots,” he grumbled, realizing how badly the mercs had screwed up.
“What do you want to do, boss?” Nicholai asked.
“Even if they’re all here, we still have the numbers advantage,” Lenka said. “And if my daughter is here, I want her found, fast. Before they panic and kill her. Got it?”
Nicholai nodded and turned to the mercs.
“Move in, people! You know who to shoot! Let’s go!”
“Hold up, Nicholai,” said Lenka with a gesture. “Let’s let Mom go first. Just in case anybody inside is feeling trigger-happy.”
Athena barely made out the words through the haze of the drugs. Her head slowly turned to Lenka.
“You first, Mother,” he insisted, motioning toward the cave with his weapon.
The two mercs responsible for watching Athena prodded her forward with the barrels of their guns. Nicholai followed them, and Lenka followed him. They descended into the darkness of the tunnel, the glow of the interior lights casting odd shadows on the smoothed-over walls. They reached the open steel door, where the three Serbs waited. Nicholai ordered them to move on to the end of the tunnel. They went ahead. Lenka’s crew stepped through the door and around a curve, the rest of the mercs filing in behind. At the end of the tunnel, the three men Lenka had sent in waited, guns up and ready.
“Stillll a-liiivee . . . ,” slurred Athena with an irritating smile.
Lenka ignored it, and stepped out onto a gently sloping ramp. It had clearly been worked by human hands, and spiraled down to the base of the cavern. Countless tunnels and caves led off the ramp, disappearing into the mountain. Below lay stalagmites, crates of supplies, and mounds of treasures interspersed among them. It was clearly a storehouse of some sort, but the merc hadn’t been wrong. Lenka could make out bas-relief carvings along the tunnels than ran from the main cavern. They were undoubtedly memorials of some sort.
“They’re in,” Nicholai said. “Two of the Serbians are guarding the door.”
“Good,” Lenka said. “Get the men onto this ramp. I want every angle covered when we move.”
“Right away, boss—”
A loud clang echoed behind them. A latching sound followed it.
“What the hell?!” spat Nicholai. “Why did they close it?”
Lenka’s fist tightened around the grips of his weapon.
“They didn’t,” he said. “Everybody, eyes up and weapons hot.”
“I’ll go see what those idiots are doing,” Arkady volunteered.
“Don’t bother,” Lenka said. “Those ‘idiots’ are already dead.”
30
Olympus, Inside Carev Vrv, Macedonia
“We’re trapped,” Nicholai said.
His stating the obvious irritated Lenka no small degree.
“We blow the door,” Arkady grunted.
Lenka shook his head. “Grenades won’t take out that door. It’s a fucking blast door. Nicholai is right. We are trapped.”
The mercenaries jostled about. Despite the cavern’s illumination by hundreds of lights, the empty spaces still loomed, shadowy and vast. Noiseless, except for the faint sound of water dripping. It was enough to creep out any man, much less a man who was locked in.
“We still have the numbers advantage,” Lenka said.
“And if all of them are here?” Nicholai asked.
“Then it’s forty to six instead of forty to two,” Lenka pointed out.
A clatter of gunfire echoed through the cavern. A mercenary near the edge of the ramp jerked violently, struck by two rounds. The man’s body armor absorbed the shots, but the impacts sent him reeling. His feet slipped out from under him, and he pitched over the edge of the ramp.
The other mercs opened fire. Muzzle flashes came from a tunnel across the cavern, twenty feet or so below. A hail of lead ripped into the walls of the cavern around the cave, sending the attackers scurrying back for cover.
Lenka stalked angrily to the edge of the ramp, his weapon up and ready. There were dozens of tunnels emptying into this main cavern, caverns his enemy no doubt knew all too well. Lenka’s men could not remain here, exposed.
As if to punctuate his thoughts, another rattle of weapons fire came at them from thirty yards down the ramp. Two figures, one high and one low, emerged from the tunnel and opened up on his men. A barrage of bullets was already streaking at him before his people could squeeze their triggers and send fire back. A round caught one of his men, hurtling him backward into the others. The man’s armor held. He grimaced in pain, his ribs no doubt bruised or cracked by the shot, but managed to get back to his feet. He joined a half-dozen other mercs in lacing this new tunnel mouth with
fire. Rock chipped and flew, but the attackers had already pulled back.
“Nicholai!” Lenka shouted. The man came forward.
“Take a dozen men, hunt down those two,” Lenka said, pointing to the tunnel where the most recent attack had come from. “Arkady! Take another dozen and go after the ones across the cavern.”
The two men nodded. Nicholai looked less than enthusiastic about the prospect. But he made no objection, just went to picking his men. Arkady had a small smile on his face, one of anticipation. His expression reminded Lenka of one of his dogs when it realized it had been taken off its leash. Lenka watched him select his men, then turned to those who were left.
“Everybody else, with me!”
One of the Ukrainian mercenaries shifted his gun, eyeing the cave warily.
“Where are we going?” he asked in accented Russian.
“I’m not going to sit here in the open and wait to die,” Lenka snarled. “We’re going to find my daughter. And we’re going to kill anything that tries to stop us.”
Desmond figured his palms should be sweating. When a person in a story was nervous, their palms were always sweating. His weren’t. They were dry, and he firmly gripped an HK416 assault rifle.
Artemis tapped him on the shoulder, and motioned him up. He crept forward through the tunnel, ducking past one of Poseidon’s children and taking cover behind a bulge in the tunnel wall. They were at the mouth of the tunnel, watching a dozen men approach. Desmond instantly conjured images of them all firing at him.
Artemis held up three fingers, then slowly counted down to one. Together, they ducked into the center of the tunnel, Artemis going low, Desmond high. He swore he squeezed the trigger before he made it around the tunnel, but the barrel of his gun cleared the wall before he fired.
To his surprise, for the first few moments he felt strangely detached. He pulled the trigger, felt the recoil buck against his shoulder. He saw figures go down. Then reality clicked in, and the roar of gunfire filled his ears.
