Bishop waded his way through the golems, trying to reduce them to powder. But the ancient bodies crowded over him. He stumbled on a broken limb and fell to his hands. While his back was pummeled he felt a rumble beneath his palms. Something was shaking. The pit, he realized; without Ridley it was returning to its original state!
“Queen don’t move!” he shouted. One false move could send them falling two hundred feet. The drop would kill Queen and leave him trapped at the bottom.
Bishop pushed up hard and felt the bone golems clinging to his back fall away. He struck out to his right, sweeping his thick arm in a wide arc. The impact drove the skeletons back, tripping them up. Then a group of them fell away, disappearing into the pit. With his fear confirmed he shouted, “The pit is open again!”
Making no effort to fight the reanimated dead, Bishop chose to simply charge through them. He hunched his shoulder forward and ran to where he’d last seen Queen. Like an NFL linebacker playing against a Pee Wee League team, he barreled through the mass of bodies and dove forward. The effect was immediate. Bodies fell away or fell to pieces under his weight. He stopped above Queen, tossed aside the golem on top of her, and pulled her to her feet.
In a blur of movement Queen lobbed something over his head. He tried to track and identify it, but it disappeared into the sea of golems on the other side of the chamber. Her next words told him exactly what it was.
“Fire in the hole!” she shouted.
A grenade.
Bishop turned away and saw Queen laying on the floor, curled into a ball, her back toward the impending blast. She had her hands over her ears, her eyes clenched shut, and her mouth open, ready for the contained blast. But with all the stone and bones filling the room, shrapnel could tear her apart. He moved to cover her with his body, but was too slow.
A deafening explosion filled the ceremonial chamber before Bishop could take cover. He was thrown into the air and smashed against the stone wall. He growled in pain, but before the dust had even begun to settle, the ringing and pain in his ears faded. The shrapnel in his flesh popped out and the wounds healed. He looked for Queen.
She was on her knees, shaking her head with a stunned look on her face, but she appeared to be unharmed. Still, she could have been shredded to bits.
“You should have let me cover you,” he said.
Queen stood, looking slightly offended. “You might be Superman, Bish, but I sure as shit am not Lois Lane.”
Bishop grinned and said, “Copy that.” Queen might not be able to heal, but she knew her limits, and how to survive. She did not want, or need, a protector.
She coughed from the foul air, removed her bandanna, and tied it around her mouth. “Where’s Knight?”
“Went after Ridley.”
That’s when the chamber ceiling, buried beneath hundreds of feet of jungle and the world’s largest pyramid, shook. Something massive had struck the surface above. Queen and Bishop charged up the stairs and into the tunnel, knowing that Ridley had most likely conjured something much stronger than golem skeletons. And whatever it was, Knight would be facing it alone.
FIFTY-FIVE
Wiltshire, England
“WELL, THIS IS unfortunate,” Alexander said as he exited the tiny spiraling tunnel and looked at the dead end.
“Unfortunate is an understatement,” King said.
Alexander squatted next to King, cramped in the small space. “I suppose it is.”
King leaned back against the exposed concrete wall, hiding it with his body. Time was short, but he wanted some answers. “Now that we have some time to kill, why don’t you answer a few questions.”
“I don’t think that—”
“Who were you talking to on the phone?”
“An associate.”
“A member of the Herculean Society?”
Alexander turned his palms up with a shrug. “They would not have my number otherwise. But this—”
“Who were you talking about? The two people, who are they?”
The combination of King’s questions and his constant interruptions were causing Alexander’s face to turn red with anger. He was pushing it, he knew, but answers flowed more easily from angry lips. “Why are you really here?”
But Alexander was either too smart or too experienced to fall for King’s bait. Just as he was about to shout something, he stopped, grinned, and leaned back. With a calm voice, he said, “I could ask the same question of you, King. The death of your sister made you a fighting man. And now a little girl, who you’ve taken as your own—which was never my intention, by the way—has replaced that missing relationship and you’re desperate to get her back. You’re doing this just as much for yourself as you are for the ‘greater good.’”
King felt his own anger rising. Alexander knew too much about him and had turned the conversation around. The problem was, King’s personal motivations didn’t conflict with the mission. He had no idea what Alexander’s endgame was, and it was clear he would get no closer to finding out.
“You would do well to remember that you are here because I allowed it.”
King was about to argue, but it was true. Alexander had led King to the Siletz Reservation and Fiona. And since being found beneath the Roman Forum, Alexander probably could have left King behind at any point. The question was, why? Why did Alexander, a man with extraordinary resources, intelligence, physical power, and a clandestine organization, allow King to tag along. So he asked, “Why?”
Alexander grinned. “I’ve always enjoyed a good game of chess.”
The implication of the statement was obvious. To Alexander, King was a pawn. We’ll see about that, King thought, but simply forced a grin. He’d pushed the subject enough. Trapped in a tiny cave with a man who could tear him apart started to make him feel like a frog in a blender. It was time to leave. He pointed to a trickle of water behind Alexander’s head. “With a steady supply of water, how long would you be able to regenerate your body?”
“Indefinitely,” Alexander answered. “Why?”
“If we’re stuck in here for a long time, or forever, I can eat you to stay alive for as long as it takes.”
Alexander sneered at the thought, looking at King like he was a madman. “You would—” Then he paused, seeing the slight smile on King’s face. “You’re joking? You— What do you know?”
King moved to the side, giving Alexander space to approach the concrete wall. “Put your ear against it.”
Alexander leaned down and placed his ear against the cold, rough wall. Being close to the wall he could see a subtle curve to its shape. And within, he heard something … water!
“It’s a drainage pipe,” King said. “Not built by Merlin, which means—”
“I have no qualms about destroying it,” Alexander finished. “Move aside.”
Alexander reached into his pocket and took out a small vial of black liquid. Before he drank it, King asked, “Would that work on me?”
“The adrenaline rush alone might be enough to destroy your heart,” Alexander said. “And if you survived that and managed to employ your newfound strength, it’s likely you would break most of the bones in your body, which get no added strength from this brew. It’s only my ability to heal that allows me to use it.”
Alexander poured a few drops of the liquid under his tongue. “You may envy my strength, but you shouldn’t. I don’t enjoy it. The pain is”—Alexander’s body shook as the adrenaline took hold—“excruciating.”
King stepped aside as Alexander’s eyes went wide, his pupils dilating. Leaning back on his hands and one leg, Alexander struck out with his right leg, smashing the concrete. He grunted in pain, paused, then struck again. His fourth strike resulted in a loud crack. On the fifth, his foot shot through the wall into the void beyond. With the hole begun, it wasn’t long before he had kicked away an opening big enough for them to fit through.
When he was done, he moved aside, his face twisted in pain. “The adrenaline is wearing off. I’ll just
need a moment to heal.”
Being eager to leave the tight confines of what was almost their tomb, King nodded and slid through the hole. After his waist passed through, he fell and landed in a stream of water. The drainage pipe was large enough to crouch in and the air fresher than the tomb’s, though tinged with mold. A ring of sunlight from a vertical tunnel farther down the pipe provided enough refracted light to see by. “I see an exit,” he said.
But the joy of their impending escape was short-lived as he heard what sounded like a sporting event—loud shouts merging with the excited ebb and flow of a game. But there was no excitement in this cacophony of voices. Only terror. He suspected they were underneath the Stonehenge parking lot, which meant …
King turned toward the tomb from which he’d just escaped. “Alexander! The car park is under attack!”
Alexander quickly joined King in the tunnel and they rushed toward the circle of sunlight. When they reached it they found a metal rung ladder leading up to a drainage grate. King moved to the side.
“You go first,” he said. “In case it needs persuading.”
Alexander climbed the ladder and after two swift strikes pushed the grate aside with a scrape of metal on pavement. He poked his head outside and paused. After grunting with displeasure, he pulled himself out of the exit. King launched up the ladder and climbed topside.
His first breath of fresh air was welcome. His second was out of a nightmare.
FIFTY-SIX
El Mirador, Guatemala
THE CLOUDS OVERHEAD had thickened, blocking out more of the rising sun’s light. Combined with the thick jungle canopy, it was like a permanent twilight. Lightning occasionally lit the scene, allowing Knight a clearer view of his fleeing target. But his eyes were keen. Dim light or not, he could see Ridley ahead, weaving in and out of the tall, thin trees that filled the jungle. Ridley was a bigger man and a slower runner, but he also didn’t tire. Catching him would have to be done quickly, especially given the direction in which he was headed—straight back to the campsite where he would have plenty of hostages.
Though the jungle canopy was thick with giant leaves, the ground was virtually vegetation free. Knight poured on the speed. While Ridley still ran in a haphazard line, most likely fearing a bullet shot, Knight only shifted if a tree or some other immovable object crossed his path.
He closed to within twenty feet and drew his sidearm. He couldn’t kill Ridley, but a few shots to the head should put him down long enough to subdue. He took aim and saw something disturbing.
Ridley was smiling.
Why would he be—
The forest floor exploded as something massive struck with the force of a bomb.
Knight slid to a stop, landing on his backside in a puddle of mud. In front of him, a long stone lay half buried in the dirt. A loud slurping sound came from the object as it began rising out of the muck. Knight followed the movement and saw a large silhouette standing above him.
The stone is an arm!
With a flash of lightning he saw the golem. It was a twenty-foot-tall statue of Chac, the Mayan god of rain. His eyes, carved thousands of years ago, were angry. His mouth was down-turned. Its body was covered in the horrified faces of those sacrificed to him. The frightening Mayan style only accentuated the menace emanating from the now-living stone.
As though sensing Knight’s rising fear, the golem raised its giant hand to strike again.
Knight scrambled in the mud, his feet slipping out from under him. Grasping a thin tree, he yanked his body out of reach just as the golem struck. The force of the impact knocked him forward. Rather than fall into the mud again he leaped, curled his body, and landed in a roll that flung him back to his feet. He continued the pursuit without pause.
Though now he wasn’t just chasing Ridley, he was also running for his life. Lightning flashed again and he caught a glimpse of Ridley in the distance, still making for the camp. He gave chase. When the ground began to shake, he knew the golem had done likewise.
Ridley rounded a mound that hid a smaller, not yet excavated temple inside, and disappeared from view. Rather than take the circuitous route around, Knight headed straight for it. He tore up the side and quickly realized his mistake. The ground was saturated and slippery. Each step slid out from under him, cutting his speed in half and giving the golem time to catch up.
He looked back and saw a huge, perpetually clenched fist flying toward his body. With the mud working against an ascending escape, he allowed gravity and the slick ground to save his life. He slid down the slope as the golem’s fist punched into the mound, impaling several feet of dirt and buried temple. Knight came to a stop at the golem’s feet.
He looked up and saw it looking down at him. It tried to yank free, but its arm was held tight.
Trapped.
But not immobile. The golem picked its foot off the ground and tried to step on Knight. But he saw it coming and ran between its legs, stopping safely behind it.
Just as he was feeling the fight was over, the golem put its whole body into pulling the arm free. But it didn’t come free of the temple mound. Stonelike sinews stretched out where the shoulder met torso. With a grinding crunch the arm tore free.
Showing no signs of pain, the golem turned on him, its ghastly expression still frozen on its face. But all it saw of Knight was his back, quickly shrinking as he ran around the temple, hoping to make up the distance between him and Ridley before he reached the camp.
With a healthy head start on the golem, Knight couldn’t feel its thunderous footfalls, but he could hear the trees in its path snapping. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder and saw the one-armed golem fifty feet back, running straight for him. Trees shattered and fell as the giant cleared a path.
Knight had no such luxury. As the jungle grew dense, he had to weave his way through trees and over large root systems that spread out like Medusa’s mane of snakes.
But he could see Ridley ahead once more.
And the camp beyond, glowing with artificial light.
Suddenly he was through the trees and in a clearing. Willing his body to move faster despite the burning in his lungs and the ache in his legs, Knight closed to within shooting distance once again.
A grove of trees separated the clearing from the camp where an unknown number of researchers hid from the weather. He needed to stop Ridley now.
Taking aim, Knight ignored the loud crack of trees behind him as the golem entered the clearing. He ignored Ridley’s phony shouts for help. The rain. The lightning. The thunder. All his attention was on his aim. In the fraction of a second when his running body reached the top of a step he pulled the trigger. The bullet spun out of the gun barrel, cut through the rain, and covered the distance to Ridley.
A large chunk of flesh exploded from Ridley’s kneecap. He stumbled, lurching forward. It was the pause Knight was hoping for. He stopped running and took careful aim.
The golem charged across the clearing. Geysers of mud burst into the air around its heavy, stumplike feet. It reached out.
Knight unloaded a full clip of ammo into Ridley, striking his legs and head several times.
Ridley fell in a heap, landing in a patch of grass.
The golem fell with him.
It landed facedown with a boom that rivaled the thunder. Carried forward by its momentum, it slid through the grass and mud, pushing up a mound in front of it. It stopped only feet from Knight’s position with a pile of earth half covering its head.
Knight looked back at the golem, letting out the breath he’d been holding.
Lightning lit the scene.
The golem was immobile and in pieces.
And Ridley was …
Knight ran to the flattened grass that marked Ridley’s fall. Something was there, but it wasn’t Ridley’s body. He knelt down, turning on his flashlight. A gray mass in the shape of a man’s body rest atop the grass.
“What the…”
Knight put his fingers in the material. It was
cold and wet. He scooped some up and rubbed it between his fingers. Then he smelled it. The scent brought back memories of digging the stuff out of river bottoms as a child. He knew what it was, and what it meant.
Hearing Bishop and Queen arrive behind him, he turned to them.
“Did you get him?” Queen asked, catching her breath.
Knight stepped aside, showing them the mass of wet, gray material. “It’s clay,” he said. “This wasn’t Ridley. It was a golem.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
Wiltshire, England
THE STINK HIT King first—a mixture of copper, feces, and something unidentifiable but equally grotesque. Before he saw the disemboweled corpse, he knew it was there. A man wearing a baseball hat and a camera around his neck lay ten feet away. His body had been folded backward—head resting on heels—and his gut had split open. King drew his weapon and surveyed the parking lot.
Bodies were everywhere, torn apart and crushed. King had seen a similar scene before and recognized the work of a merciless golem. Several cars burned. Screams rolled over the hills from the distance. People were still alive, but given the high pitch of their screams they were either being killed or expected to be at any moment. “Let’s go!” King said, running into the lot and heading for their car.
Before reaching the vehicle he could see something was wrong. The driver’s side tire was bent at an odd angle. When he reached it, he found the whole front end imploded. Something huge had crushed the car.
The ground shook.
Something was still out there.
King closed his eyes in dread. “He wouldn’t…”
“What is it?”
King didn’t answer, he just ran for the tunnel that led beneath the road. He entered the tunnel at full speed, made his way through, and rounded the ramp on the far side. At the top he saw his fears realized.
Stonehenge was missing.
Circles of large pits were all that remained of the ancient monument. Knowing a golem constructed from the bluestones of Stonehenge wouldn’t be hard to find, King spun around and found the giant much closer than he expected. Standing thirty feet tall, the gray giant was as large as it was featureless. But even without a face of any kind, it glowed with malice. And right then, the target of its rage was a ruby red, double-decker tour bus.
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