Wrath of Poseidon

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by Clive Cussler




  TITLES BY CLIVE CUSSLER

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  NONFICTION

  Built for Adventure: The Classic Automobiles of Clive Cussler and Dirk Pitt

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  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  Publishers Since 1838

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  Copyright © 2020 by Sandecker, RLLLP

  Map copyright © 2020 by Denéa Buckingham

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Hardcover ISBN: 9780593087886

  Ebook ISBN: 9780593087893

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0

  CONTENTS

  Titles by Clive Cussler

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Cast of Characters

  Map of Fournoi Korseon

  Prologue I

  Prologue II

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-thr
ee

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Chapter Seventy-three

  Chapter Seventy-four

  Chapter Seventy-five

  Chapter Seventy-six

  Chapter Seventy-seven

  Chapter Seventy-eight

  Chapter Seventy-nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-one

  Chapter Eighty-two

  Chapter Eighty-three

  Chapter Eighty-four

  Chapter Eighty-five

  Chapter Eighty-six

  Chapter Eighty-seven

  Chapter Eighty-eight

  Chapter Eighty-nine

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  SARDIA, 546 B.C.

  General Mazares—the head of King Cyrus II of Persia’s army

  Artaban—Mazares’s lieutenant

  Magos—a soldier

  Tabalus—the satrap/governor of Sardia, appointed by Cyrus

  Pactyes—a Lydian appointed by Cyrus to oversee the treasury of Sardia

  POSEIDON’S TRIDENT, 546 B.C.

  Xanthos—age fifteen, a Korseai fisherman

  Agathos—age ten, Xanthos’s brother

  Drakon—a Samian pirate

  Lampros—a Samian pirate

  Alyattes—a Lydian thief

  Korax—a Lydian thief

  THE FARGOS

  Sam Fargo

  Remi Fargo—née Longstreet

  THEIR FRIENDS

  St. Julien Perlmutter

  Frank—St. Julien’s driver

  Rubin “Rube” Haywood—a CIA agent

  Blake Thomas—Sam’s friend and a real estate agent

  Olivia Brady—Remi’s post-college roommate

  Keith Brady—Olivia’s brother

  Steve Drake—a retired Navy SEAL

  Kate Drake—Steve’s wife

  Selma Wondrash—the Fargos’ researcher

  GREECE

  FOURNI RESIDENTS

  Dimitris Papadopoulos—Remi’s college friend

  Nikos Papadopoulos—Dimitris’s father

  Ares—Nikos’s nephew

  Valerios—Nikos’s cousin

  Tassos Gianakos—an expert on pirate lore and Zoe’s grandfather

  Zoe Gianakos—Dimitris’s girlfriend

  Skavos—owner of Skavos’s café

  Manos Mitikas—Dimitris’s friend, a Fourni Underwater Archeological Preservation Society diver

  Denéa Buckingham—Manos’s girlfriend, a Fourni Underwater Archeological Preservation Society diver

  SAMOS RESIDENTS

  Helena—a friend of Tassos

  Professor Pallas Alexandris—a classical literature expert at the University of the Aegean

  PATMOS RESIDENTS

  Adrian Kyril

  Minerva Kyril—Adrian’s mother, an olive oil magnate

  Phoebe—Adrian Kyril’s girlfriend

  Leon—the Kyril family’s attorney

  ADRIAN KYRIL’S GANG

  Ilya—Adrian’s head of security

  Fayez—Ilya’s second in command

  Giorgo—a guard

  Lucas—a guard

  Zenos

  Gianni

  Piers

  Kostas

  Gregor

  INTERPOL

  Sergeant Petros Kompouras

  PROLOGUE I

  Sardis, Persian Empire

  546 B.C.

  The steep acropolis of Sardis loomed against the night sky, while far below at the city’s edge, flames consumed the reed-thatched buildings. General Mazares, dispatched by King Cyrus II of Persia the moment he’d learned of the revolt, had ridden through the night, leading a unit of armed heavy cavalry. According to the imperial messenger, the Ionian mercenaries were set to spark the revolt at dawn.

  Apparently, they’d gotten an early start.

  “Fools,” Artaban, his lieutenant, called out over the sound of hooves as the horses neared the gates. A wooden building exploded near the gold-refining works. “Do they not realize that Cyrus will crush them?”

  “There is nothing left to crush,” Mazares shouted. “I’m surprised that there’s anything left to burn.”

  It was the second time they’d marched upon Sardis. The first was when King Cyrus’s army had broken the siege of the wealthy Lydian capital, captured its king, Croesus, then plundered his vast treasury. If not for this revolt, Mazares would be accompanying the bulk of Croesus’s treasure back to Ecbatana.

  “The quicker we quell this rebellion, the sooner we get home.” He eyed the flames swirling from several structures just outside the gates.

  As they neared the inferno, Mazares realized the purpose of the fires. He and his horsemen were almost blinded. Waiting for them, the insurgents, with their backs to the blaze, had the advantage. Within moments, Cyrus’s cavalry was attacked by a shadow army of soldiers armed with spears, axes, and swords.

  Dividing his men into two flanks, Mazares led the left, Artaban the right. The deafening clash of metal rang through the night as his horsemen, blinded by the flames, battled the unseen enemy. Mazares thrust at an armed silhouette. His blade struck something solid. The rebel’s shield. Shouting, Mazares ordered his left flank to close in, while Artaban did the same with the right, sweeping in behind the rebels, who suddenly found themselves sandwiched between both flanks. Spurring his horse to rear, Mazares blocked the thrust of a spear, and drove his blade into his opponent’s chest, piercing through the man’s inadequate armor.

  Pulling his sword free, he wheeled his mount to the right, then swung at the next man, felling him as well.

  Within minutes, it was over. The insurrectionists fled. The flames of the wooden structures, no longer being fed, began to die as a smoky dawn in the eastern sky burned along with the embers of the failed revolt.

  Mazares surveyed the scattering of bodies—none of them his men. The speed with which they put down the insurrection troubled him as he met up with his second in command. “Tell me, Artaban. Does it not seem suspiciously convenient that the fire was confined to the outer wall? And that the skirmishers dissipated almost the moment we rode in?”

  “And why wouldn’t they?” Artaban nodded back at their troops, who were awaiting further orders. “If you were a group of outnumbered mercenaries and you beheld Cyrus’s immortal cavalry charging?”

  Immortal they were not. But the ease with which they’d won this so-called battle would certainly add to their legend.

  It did not, however, lessen Mazares’s concern.

  It was something more than the desertion of the city gates. His unease grew as he led a contingent of horsemen into the city.

  “A trap?” asked Artaban.

  “I fear something else entirely.” He raised his hand. His men halted in the agora, looking down the empty streets on all sides. Before his depar
ture from Sardis, King Cyrus had appointed Tabalus to govern the newly conquered city in his stead. “Tabalus’s guards could easily have crushed the insurrection, as small as it was. So why have we not seen any of his guards on the streets?”

  “Perhaps the governor is part of it?”

  “Let us hope not. Magos, take charge. If there is any evidence that the rebels are regrouping, end it. Artaban, bring back one of those rebels. Alive.”

  “And where will you be?” Artaban asked.

  “I intend to find out whether the king’s trust in Tabalus has been misplaced.”

  As his officers took off in opposite directions, Mazares and a handful of his horsemen rode to the acropolis, only to discover the palace guards sprawled on their backs in front of the great carved cedar doors, both standing wide open.

  “Dead,” Mazares said. “Find Tabalus.” He strode past the guards, down the long hall into the throne room. A few minutes later, two officers returned, escorting the frightened governor between them.

  Dressed in nightclothes, Tabalus, attempting to regain his magisterial dignity, scrambled onto the throne. “Well met, General Mazares. I prayed that you would arrive in time,” he said.

  “Who is behind all this?”

  “I cannot say. My spies were thwarted at every turn, one even impaled. I managed to get a messenger out moments before the rebels besieged the acropolis.”

  One of Mazares’s men nodded. “The governor speaks the truth. We found him bound to his bed, and his chamber door barred from the outside. The rest of the palace staff was shut up in the Scroll Room.”

  “None of this makes sense.” Mazares paced across the polished marble floor, trying to fit the pieces together, certain there must be something they were all overlooking. An answer of sorts finally came when Artaban returned, dragging one of the rebels into the palace. He threw him to the ground at the base of the dais. “Tell your governor what took place here tonight.”

  The man, groveling on hands and knees, lifted his head, swallowing past a lump in his throat as he looked at the disheveled governor. “We were paid—generously—to burn what was left of the buildings near the city gates.”

  Mazares noted the soot on the man’s face and clothing. “Who paid you?”

  “I know them not.”

  Artaban drew his knife and held it to the rebel’s neck.

  “I swear,” he said, his eyes beseeching. “The one thing I can tell you—they were not from Sardis. They were not even Lydian.”

 

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