wouldn’t escape without a fight. A second set of engines, coming from below, confirmed her fears. She turned to the Delta team behind her and pointed to Edmundo. “Leave him and be ready to haul ass.”
The old man was placed on the ground were he would sleep peacefully through the chaos that would soon add more scars to the town.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rome, Italy
THREE MISSISSIPPI!
Pierce stood, bolted out and around the debris they’d been hiding behind, raised his fist, aimed, and threw the only punch he was sure he’d get to make. Aiming was difficult in the darkness, but he saw the silhouette of a head and tried to direct his fist just below. Strike the throat … strike the throat … strike the—contact.
The impact was solid, knuckles on bone.
Not a soft throat.
And it took all of Pierce’s self-control to not shout out in pain. His fist ached and his arm tingled. But he had made contact.
A dull thud sounded as the attackee collapsed at his feet.
Pierce’s adrenaline surged as he realized he’d taken the guard out with a single punch to the head. For a moment he understood the rush King must feel when on a mission. Then King’s flashlight clicked on revealing the man he had attacked.
He was young and unconscious, dressed in a pink dress shirt, holding a black dress coat in his flaccid arms.
The light drifted toward the body at Pierce’s feet. When he saw the face, he stepped back with a hand to his mouth. “Oh God.”
King moved to the pretty young woman and checked her pulse. She was alive, which was good for her and his friend’s psyche. “She’s alive,” he said, then took her by the arms. “Get the guy.”
They dragged the couple who’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time behind the remains of the temple’s interior walls. King could see Pierce was distracted over hitting the woman. “It had to be done,” King said. “If you didn’t do it, I would have.”
“So this was a ‘can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs’ situation?”
King nodded. “Sometimes you have to be a bad parent to be a good parent.”
Pierce let out a quiet “Huh” as a memory of King’s sister returned. “Julie used to say that.”
With a grin, King said, “So did my dad.”
Pierce looked at his fist with a grin. “It was a good punch.”
King clapped him on the shoulder. “Would have made Jules proud.”
They both fought against laughing. They both knew that Julie had been a strident feminist who believed men and women should be treated equally in every way, including combat. Which is why she worked so hard to defy the system and become a fighter pilot. She really would have been proud.
King led him back to the northwest corner of the temple. To the north and east they could see the security guards closing in on their location—flashlights giving away their positions. King knelt down and motioned to where they’d hid the bodies. “They’re here for them.”
“You’re sure?”
“Well, maybe not exactly them, but they’re probably expecting to find drunk socialites pissing on a column, not…” King held up his weapon, letting it finish the sentence for him. “Let’s go.”
The series of foundation stones remaining within the long rectangular ruins of the Basilica Julia hid the pair as they snuck around the guards. They stopped directly across from the Lacus Curtius and looked to the right. The two guards, walking away from them toward the temple of Castor and Pollux were oblivious to their presence. But the guards approaching from the other side were now facing them, albeit from more than one hundred feet away. King quickly judged the distance and the intensity of the flashlight beams and decided it was too risky.
Then he saw all four flashlights turn toward the temple of Castor and Pollux. He grabbed Pierce’s shirt and pulled him up. “Let’s go!”
They hopped the small black fence and crouch-ran across the footpath. The ruins on the other side, along with a short, low-hanging tree, provided ample cover. Concealed again, they headed for the ancient pit long since covered. King was surprised to find the structure built over the pit to be constructed of metal poles and beams. The thing was solid and held a large flat roof at an angle to divert rainfall. They crawled beneath the low roof and inspected the site.
Aged rectangular blocks of white marble were laid out in grids on either side of a circular, layered pit. Two layers led down, like steps, to a flat, stone base. A stone on the top of the pit’s far side had been moved out of alignment with the rest, ruining the circle.
It was, in every way, unremarkable. Despite its mysterious origins, King could see nothing that made this site worthwhile … or worthy of a rain guard when the rest of the far more extravagant forum was left to brave the elements. “Why is this covered?” he asked.
Pierce scratched his head. “I’ve heard that before it was covered rain would collect there—” He pointed to the small basin. “And would leak through to whatever is beyond. They feared erosion would undermine the stability of the site and possibly the surrounding sites as well, so they covered it up. Why do you ask?”
“Just seems odd. What do you think is down there?”
“Aside from a chasm created by Zeus’s lightning bolt? The entire area surrounding this hill was a swamp before Rome was built. Today it would have been a protected wetland. They drained the swamps and built the city. Best guess is it’s an underground lake. This whole area of the city is probably full of underground rivers, too. Without the swamps, the whole system might be dry now, but really, who knows.”
King sighed. None of this was helpful. He stood to get a better look at the pit and hit his head on the low- hanging ceiling. The metal sheet sounded out like a gong. “Shit,” he whispered, knowing the guards would soon be upon them.
Ignoring the panicked whispers of Pierce and the distant voices of the guards, King focused his attention on the pit. Once again, there were no markers of any kind. Then he looked up at the ceiling. Its plain surface held no clues, either, but the two I-beams supporting the ceiling did. They were separated by five feet, each crossing over the circle of stones. He mentally stripped the ceiling away and pictured the I-beams over the circular pit.
King jumped into the pit, scouring every surface for something more.
“Did you find something?” Pierce asked, joining him at the bottom of the two-foot-deep depression. “The guards will be here any second!”
“The I-beams,” King said. “From above, they cross over the circle.”
Pierce saw the image in his mind. The symbol of the Herculean Society. But not quite. The circle was broken. “Help me move this,” Pierce said, taking hold of the misaligned stone. “Pull it back into the circle!”
The guards’ voices grew louder. Commanding. They’d found the bodies and discovered they hadn’t passed out, but had been knocked out. The squeal of distant sirens—police and medical—converged on the forum, which would soon be an inescapable quagmire of men in uniform.
And the stone wasn’t budging.
“We’re trying to force it,” Pierce said. “Maybe it’s a more complicated lever.” He placed his hands on top of the stone like he was about to do CPR chest compressions. “You pull. I’ll push.”
As the legs and feet of the approaching guards came into view, King nodded.
Pierce put his weight onto the stone and felt it drop a fraction of an inch. King pulled and the stone shifted
