Herculean (Cerberus Group Book 1) (11 page)

“Or he might try to use you to get to me,” Pierce replied. “It’s safer here, at least until I can figure out what to do next.”

Gallo did not fail to notice the exclusivity of his language, but decided to let it slide. Pierce was clearly still rattled from the attempt on his life. Rather than comment, she rose from her chair and went over to inspect the one item that Pierce had brought back from Crete. “This is really the skin of the Nemean Lion?”

“And it lives up to the hype,” Fiona said, before Pierce could answer. “Bullet-proof, explosion-proof, cave-in-proof…you name it, the Lion skin stops it.”

Gallo turned back to Pierce. “You said he took Queen Hippolyte’s girdle and a book?”

“A copy of the
Heracleia
. Probably one of the first ever written down and the only one still in existence today.”

“Why?”

Pierce blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Kenner’s specialty is paleopharmacology. You said he as much as told you that he was looking for the secret to creating monsters like the chimeras of mythology. Yet, of all the things that you found hidden in the Labyrinth, he took a book and a belt. Does that make sense to you?”

Pierce’s forehead creased in a frown. “When he found the belt, Kenner told his partner that they had what they came for.” He raised his eyes to meet Gallo’s stare. “Hippolyte was the daughter of Ares, the god of war. The belt was a gift from him, a symbol of his favor and her right to rule over the Amazons. In most versions of the story, the belt is said to possess magical properties, but there’s no clear explanation of what that means. Probably enhanced prowess in battle or invincibility.”

She nodded toward the Lion skin. “Kind of like that. Maybe the belt was from some exotic animal? That might explain Kenner’s interest.”

“In some versions, it’s made of leather. In others, gold. Not much help there.” Pierce searched his memory for other trivia relating to the war girdle, but it was Gallo who spoke next, reminding him why they made such a good team.

“Herakles was sent to retrieve the belt as a gift to King Eurystheus’s daughter,” Gallo said. “When he arrived at the Amazon city, Hippolyte went to meet him. She was about to give him the belt without a fight when the goddess Hera intervened and turned the Amazons against him. He ended up killing Hippolyte. In some of the more obscure interpretations, the belt is thought to be a symbol of Hippolyte’s virginity, but I would tend to doubt that given the fact that Herakles takes the belt
after
killing her.”

“Assuming that Kenner knew what he was talking about, the belt is the real thing.” Pierce sighed. “Which means we’re back to square one.”

“There was something on the belt,” Fiona supplied. “A picture, I think.”

If Pierce heard her, he gave no indication. “Kenner was very specific about his intentions. He wants to make chimeras. We need to stop him. And we need to get back what he took. Those are our primary objectives now.”

“Why would he require something from the ancient world? From what I’ve been reading, genetic engineers are already making chimeras.”

“He seemed to think there was something unique about the creatures of Greek mythology. A shortcut that increased the chances of success. The worst thing is, he’s probably right. We know that at least some of those creatures were real.”

An electronic chime spared Pierce from recalling his past encounters with strange creatures believed to be myth, but which were very real. He turned to the computer screen where the message ‘Incoming call from Cintia’ flashed. He clicked on ‘Accept,’ and a few seconds later, Dourado’s likeness appeared on the screen.

To say that Dourado favored an eclectic style was a profound understatement. Today, she sported purple hair—the color was as changeable as the phases of the moon—which spilled out above a lime green bandana tied around her head like a sweatband. She had too many piercings to count. Hoops and barbells seemed to sprout from every available fold of flesh: eyebrows, ears—lobes and cartilage, a tiny rhinestone decorated the side of one nostril and a pair of rings adorned her lower lip in what Gallo had been informed was called a ‘snakebite.’

Gallo, who preferred a more traditional concept of beauty, was always amazed at the effort Dourado put into camouflaging her natural good looks, the product of a thoroughly mixed bloodline that gave her flawless honey-colored skin, brilliant almond-shaped green eyes and envy-inspiring cheekbones.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Dourado said. “I didn’t think this could wait.”

She spoke in a very precise manner, enunciating every word, as if trying to avoid letting her accent slip through, not realizing that the effort had the opposite effect.

“What have you got?” Pierce replied.

“This man Kenner has some very unusual friends. I traced his financials through a series of non-profits, all of them shells, eventually circling back on itself.”

“You didn’t call to tell me ‘dead-end.’”

“No,” Dourado admitted. “But the money trail doesn’t lead anywhere. I haven’t seen such a complicated branch network since I hacked the Society.”

“That’s why you’re the perfect person for this job,” Pierce said. “If anyone can crack this nut, it’s you.”

Gallo thought his tone, while encouraging, sounded dangerously close to patronization.

Dourado didn’t seem to take it that way. “I decided to ignore the money and look at the shell organizations. Each of these organizations has a website, and on each website, there is a cleverly concealed application that redirects to this.”

Dourado’s violet-haired visage vanished, replaced by a live feed of a computer screen displaying a black logo—a stylized image of what appeared to be three dog heads, joined together and staring watchfully in all directions—on a blank white background.

Fiona, who had roused herself and was now staring over Pierce’s shoulder, was the first to identify the image. “Cerberus. The three-headed dog that guards the gates of the Underworld. Capturing Cerberus was Hercules’s final Labor.”

Underneath the logo was a line of text and a Java script box. The prompt read simply: ‘What do you want?’

Pierce and Gallo exchanged a glance, but before either of them could speak, letters began to appear in the box.

WORLD PEACE.

Pierce opened his mouth to say something, probably to advise caution, but the message was sent before he could utter a word. The screen abruptly changed to display a generic 404-error. Dourado clicked on the ‘Back’ button, but the ‘page not found’ message remained.

“That is what happens every time, no matter what I put in,” Dourado explained. “You get just one try, and then you are shut out permanently. Don’t worry. I am using randomly generated IP addresses. They won’t be able to trace this activity to me.”

“Is it asking for a password?” Pierce inquired.

“I believe the question is literal,” Dourado said. “What matters is
who
asks it. This may be a blind contact page for a
concierge
service.” She emphasized the word so that the listeners would understand that irony was intended. “Ask for whatever you want, and if you can afford the price tag, the doggie will go fetch it for you.”

“And if you can’t,” Gallo murmured, “the doggie will chase you away.”

“Exactly,” Dourado said.

“So how does Kenner connect to this?” Pierce asked. “Is he working for…Cerberus, whatever it is? Did they hire him to find the secret of how to make chimeras?”

When no one answered, he shook his head. “Good work, Cintia. Keep digging into Cerberus. Try to figure out what their agenda is.” He paused, the set of his jaw showing that he had just had a very unpleasant thought. “If Kenner is looking to exploit the DNA of ancient creatures, we might need some technical advice. We’re out of our depth here. Get me a list of candidates with a background in biology and genetics.”

Gallo raised an eyebrow. She knew that the Society’s charter allowed for the recruitment of new members from time to time, but it was rare to draft someone out of the blue. Most new members were brought aboard only after discovering the truth about the Society for themselves. Tapping someone from out of the blue could have unpredictable results.

“Done,” Dourado replied, almost before Pierce finished speaking. The screen refreshed to show a list of names along with a condensed
curriculum vitae
for each. Gallo didn’t recognize any of the names, but Pierce did.

“Number three,” he said. “Dr. Carter.”

“It may be difficult to reach her,” Dourado said. “She’s in Liberia, working with the World Health Organization to develop an Ebola vaccine.”

“Make the travel arrangements,” Pierce said. “I’ll extend the invitation personally. We have a mutual friend.”

Gallo noted a change in his demeanor, as if the prospect of being on the move again had energized him. She could sympathize. Nothing sapped one’s
joie de vivre
quite as fast as being stuck in a lightless hole in the ground. Something told her that was exactly what Pierce had in mind for her. “Am I to assume that you expect Fiona and me to remain here?”

Pierce blinked at her, as if sensing but not comprehending her irritation. “It’s the safest place.”

“Safe from what?”

“Kenner might…” He trailed off, unwilling to put whatever he was thinking into words.

“George, you can’t be serious. I’ve got to be the last thing on his mind right now.”

Pierce sagged. “Fine. But if you insist on leaving, be careful.”

“Physician, heal thyself,” Gallo replied. “You’re the one who’s going off to the hot zones of Western Africa.”

13

Cerberus Headquarters, Location Unknown

The sudden rush of light when the blindfold was removed felt like a hot knife stabbing through Liam Kenner’s skull. He winced, covering his eyes and blinking rapidly until the discomfort was manageable. He had the good sense not to complain, though.

The blindfold was a minor inconvenience compared to the sedative he had been required to take after boarding the Cerberus executive jet. Between the drug and the blindfold, he had absolutely no idea where on Earth he was.

Such ignorance was the price of admission into the Cerberus inner sanctum. Kenner considered it an investment in his future, and a bargain considering what he had been promised in exchange for the knowledge recovered from the Labyrinth.

The world came into focus around him. A laboratory. He did a slow turn, taking inventory of the varied apparatus arrayed on the tables. There were racks of glassware, microscopes and autoclaves, along with several computer workstations and a white board along one wall. His impression of the room was that it had been put together by someone whose idea of what a laboratory should look like came from watching too many movies. More a cliché than a work environment.

I hope they don’t actually expect me to accomplish anything here
, he thought.

As if reading his thoughts, Rohn tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a flat-screen television monitor mounted on the wall. It displayed the image of a wizened old man with wispy white hair clinging to a mostly bald and liver-spotted head.

“Mr. Tyndareus, I presume,” Kenner said.

A wheezy voice issued from the built-in speaker. “Dr. Kenner. Welcome. I realize that the facilities here may not be up to your standards. If you will provide Mr. Rohn with a list of the equipment you require, we will accommodate you.” There was the faintest hint of an accent. German, or perhaps Slavic. Definitely from Eastern Europe.

Kenner shook his head impatiently. “I tried to explain this to your man. It’s much too soon to be moving into the lab.”

Beneath his heavy brow, the old man’s gaze grew sharp. There was something disconcerting about those blue eyes. They did not quite match. The effect reminded Kenner of an old story he had once read long ago. Poe was it? He couldn’t recall. He had no patience for American Romanticists, and he couldn’t bear to meet Tyndareus’s stare long enough to figure out what it was about the man’s eyes that was so disturbing.

“Mr. Rohn led me to believe that you found what you were looking for in Crete.”

“Yes, I did. But what I was looking for was
information
about where to find the source. The original mutagen responsible for recombining animal DNA to create mythological creatures. Now that I have that information, the next step is to locate the source. What the ancients called the Well of Monsters.”

Tyndareus regarded him for several long seconds. He raised a gnarled hand and waggled a finger. “My time and patience are not infinite, Dr. Kenner. I trust you are not wasting either.”

“I’ve not yet had the opportunity to examine the information we recovered,” Kenner lied, careful not to sound defensive. “But the Well exists. Those creatures were real. We need only follow in the footsteps of Hercules, and we will find the mutagen. Once we accomplish that, the laboratory work should be simple and straightforward.”

Tyndareus did not appear completely satisfied with the promise, but he did not press the issue. “There’s something else you should know. My agents have reported that Pierce and his companion boarded their jet in Heraklion, shortly after your departure.”

The news surprised Kenner, though perhaps not in the way the old man expected. Pierce’s survival lifted an enormous burden of guilt from Kenner’s shoulders.

Rohn’s reaction, however, was sharp and immediate. There was a trace of fear in his tone. “I wanted to finish them,” he blurted. “This one told me they would not be able to escape.”

“Take responsibility for your own failures, Vigor.” Despite its wheezy high-pitched timbre, there was something dangerous in the old man’s voice. Kenner realized that Tyndareus was holding Rohn accountable for Pierce’s escape, not him.

“Does it matter?” Kenner asked. “Pierce can’t touch us now.”

“I dislike loose ends, Dr. Kenner. They have a way of unraveling the best laid plans. I cannot allow this particular enterprise to be jeopardized. Not with the goal in sight.”

“I will take care of Pierce,” Rohn promised.

The old man considered the statement for a moment. “We will monitor Pierce’s activities, but our first priority must be finding the source of the mutagen. Dr. Kenner…I expect results.” The screen went dark.

Rohn glowered but said nothing.

As pleased as he was that Rohn was now feeling some of the heat, Kenner knew that the pressure on him would only increase with time. Tyndareus was not a patient man. At his age—the man had to be at least a hundred years old—he could not afford to be.

Kenner thought about the symbols etched into the belt of the Amazon queen. He would not find the Well of Monsters without first deciphering that strange text, but ancient languages were not his area of expertise.

He did not dare reveal to Tyndareus that the search had already hit a roadblock. With luck, the solution to the mystery would be found in the pages of the
Heracleia
. If not, Tyndareus, despite having one foot already in the grave, would definitely outlive him.

He needed help, but he didn’t dare ask for it.

Then the answer occurred to him. “Mr. Rohn, I think I may know a way for us to kill two birds with one stone.”