Pulse

FORTY-SIX

As the small motorboat bounced up and over a large, blue-green Mediterranean wave, the base of the vertical stone face of Gibraltar's famous rock could be seen clearly. A small rock-strewn shoreline rose up perhaps ten feet from the water where it met a cliffside covered in caves. The caves, massive where they met the elements, narrowed into dark tunnels into which eyes adjusted to the bright sun could not see.

They had elected to approach the caves in broad daylight in an effort to remain inconspicuous. After all, they were just a couple of Swiss tourists interested in seeing the famous Gorham's Cave.

The hum of the engine faded as the pilot, a man who refused to give his name or remove his sunglasses, idled toward the shore. Just before the boat struck the stony shoreline, the pilot reversed the engines, stopping the boat a few feet from shore. Without waiting or bidding their driver farewell, Queen and Rook hopped into the knee-deep water and waded to shore.

A tan man with long, black curly locks and a scruffy beard charged out of the cave entrance. He didn't talk, but his body language spoke volumes. He was fairly large, just a little taller than Rook, and had confident eyes and sculpted forearms. In fact, his eyes were so deep, so keen with wisdom that Queen stopped short of the shore. There was something different about this man she couldn't quite peg.

The boat powered away, out to sea. Regaining her composure, Queen motioned to it and spoke with a passable Swiss accent. "Your face says we should not be here, but as you can see, he has left us."

"Why are you here?" the man asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Our guide in town," Rook said, also laying on a Swiss accent. "He said the Gorham's Cave was the most magnificent sight on Gibraltar. That the history is so spectacular. That no man, or woman, should miss the opportunity to see the cave. To experience our shared history."

"He was right on all counts, except that you are not allowed in the caves. No one is. Not without an official invitation, and those are only given to archaeologists and anthropologists. Which I'm guessing neither of you are."

Queen pouted. "I am afraid not. You are sure about this? That we may not enter?" "Quite."

She looked at Rook. He smiled in a friendly way and shrugged a "Why not," still acting the jovial vacationer part.

"I must apologize, sir. We have not been entirely honest with you."

The man stood his ground, but did raise his eyebrows.

"You see, we were sent here by a friend. She told us to visit the caves. That we would find them fascinating. She lives in the shadow of the Acropolis in Athens. The Plaka district. Perhaps you have been there? A beautiful place this time of year."

"Wonderful gelato," Rook added with a smile.

The man stood silent for a moment, and then said, "I do not know her."

Queen reached into her blouse and pulled out the amulet recovered from the Argo. The worn Herculean Society symbol glittered in the sun. The man squinted, frowned momentarily, and then put on a warm smile. "Ahh, I see you have a special invitation then."

"We had hoped so," she replied.

The man thought for a moment, then headed for the cave entrance. "Follow me."

He led them through the large mouth of the cave, into the darkness beyond. The tunnel had been largely clear of debris, but the floor was all but invisible in the darkness. If not for the light ahead, allowing them to keep watch on the man's head, he could have easily left them behind. "You can lose the accents," the man said. "I know you're Americans."

Rook didn't bother asking how the man knew, and didn't argue the point. He dropped the accent and asked, "I didn't catch your name."

Alexander Diotrephes." He hurried on, into the light.

They entered a large chamber, lit by several standing halogen lamps. The floor was covered in a grid of intersecting strings — an all-out archaeological dig was indeed underway. Several workers looked up at them, watching with suspicious eyes, but none said hello. Alexander waved to them and they returned to work. "Please stay on the path. A single step could destroy thousands of years of history."

Rook took note of the two-foot-wide path, lined by strings. It wound its way through the cave. Whoever had laid down the path had meticulously worked their way through the cave, avoiding any and all archaeological finds, which were marked by small, bright orange flags.

"We have cata loged one hundred and twenty artifacts including knives, spear tips, and bone fragments. But our greatest discovery makes the rest of this seem trivial."

"The last holdout of the Neanderthals is trivial?" Queen asked.

Alexander stopped in front of the rear wall of the cave. It appeared as though they'd hit a dead end. He flashed a smile. "You wear the symbol of our founder," he said. "I'm sure you know his name."

"Herakles," Queen said, using the ancient pronunciation.

Alexander nodded, then stepped aside, revealing the Herculean Society symbol etched in the stone wall. He continued to the side and then disappeared into the wall. Queen and Rook followed after the man and found a cleverly disguised entrance that could only be seen up close. He waited for them in a dimly lit staircase. "What we have here is a citadel of sorts. This is where Hercules spent his last days on earth, teaching his ways to his followers, safeguarding his secrets and ensuring his status as a god among men."

"Then he wasn't a god?" Rook asked as he followed Alexander and Queen down a winding staircase, making sure to keep a watchful eye behind them. If things went wrong, the cave system was a strategic nightmare.

"Hardly. An amazing man. The most amazing man. Worthy of adoration and praise. But fully human. That is the legacy of the historical Herakles. The pinnacle of humanity. The bar for which we all grasp."

A solid wooden door blocked the way at the bottom of the stairway. Then he surprised them again by flipping open a faux rock and revealing a hand print identifying pad. He placed his hand on the pad, and waited as a blue light passed over his palm and fingers twice. The door unlocked and swung inward, allowing them entrance.

The room on the other side was as modern as it was large. While the stone walls, stalactite-covered ceiling, and ancient carvings revealed the cavern's age, the computer terminals, lab tables, and rows of refrigeration units spoke of a l ong-term, modern occupancy. If there had ever been evidence of Neanderthal occupation here, they had long since been crushed underfoot… or vacuumed off of the splendidly polished stone floor.

Rook felt sure that this is what Pierce must have suspected. And with no one else around, it was time to drop the ruse and get some answers. Rook drew Pierce's 9mm and aimed it at Alexander. "Sorry, buddy. But we're going to ask you some questions and we're going to need some answers. And fast."

Rook expected any number of reactions from the sizable man. He'd seen tougher men urinate, weep, and buckle at the knees when confronted with their own death. But Alexander reacted by grinning and chuckling. He knew something that allowed him to keep his calm, to the point of casually accepting the presence of a gun. He sat down on a stool, clasped his hands on his lap, and asked, "What is it you want to know? Hmm?"

As Queen and Rook looked into the now excited eyes of Alexander Diotrephes, they failed to notice the two figures approaching them… on the ceiling.