if asleep. But black diamond eyes remained forever open, staring down at those gathered below.
Bailey mumbled softly, as if fearing to wake the beasts. “‘On either side there stood gold and silver mastiffs . . . ’”
Kowalski recognized the line. Elena had recited it from the Odyssey. “The dogs that guarded the Phaeacians’ gates.”
“This must be them,” Bailey said, his eyes shining with awe, reflecting the flames still dancing on the altar. “The story of these dogs must have eventually reached Greece, passed from one generation to another, until ultimately becoming part of Homer’s story.”
“Which makes you wonder what else might be true,” Gray said, sounding both excited and worried.
“Only one way to find out.” Kowalski pointed his flashlight ahead, where the tunnel into the mountain curved away. The passage was large enough to drive an Abrams battle tank down its throat.
Before heading out, Gray glanced back to the tarnished bronze cave. “Someone should remain here. If that fire goes out, those doors may close on their own.”
Trapping us in hell? Yeah, let’s not do that.
“I’ll stay,” Seichan volunteered.
Gray looked like he wanted to argue. He even scanned the group. But he knew the truth as well as Kowalski. They needed someone to have their back, someone they trusted, especially if all hell broke loose—which, in this case, might actually happen.
Gray finally nodded. “Let’s go.”
They set off down the dark tunnel.
Maria sidled next to Kowalski and slipped her hand into his. “You do take me interesting places.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded ahead. “This time to hell and back.”
“Glad you’re thrilled.” He squeezed her fingers. “But I’m looking forward to the and back part.”
6:04 P.M.
From the stern of her cruiser, Charlie watched a helicopter roar past overhead and head down the channel. It was a summer weekend, and tour companies were clearly busy ferrying people from the swelter of Agadir to the cool pools and freshwater springs of nearby Paradise Valley to the north.
Still, she felt something was off. The helicopter looked like one of the two that had passed by a minute ago.
If so, why is it heading back so soon?
Could there have been an emergency aboard? As she watched it pass, she heard a change in the timbre of its engines. It circled wider, then lowered, as if trying to land in one of the meadows downstream.
If they’re in distress, maybe I should go see if they need help?
She checked her watch. The others had been gone a long time. She had no idea when they were planning to return. She had caught a brief glimpse of them climbing the cliff and vanishing into a cave. Who knew how deep that one went?
She probably had time to motor over to the helicopter, but she feared she might not be able to navigate back to this spot to retrieve her passengers.
And, more important, she still felt something was not right. If there was an emergency, why hadn’t the other helicopter come back with this one?
No, something is wrong.
She headed to the cruiser’s cabin to retrieve her binoculars, intending to get a better view of that aircraft when it landed.
Aggie chirped at her from his little bed, littered with olive pits.
“It’s okay, mon chéri.”
She grabbed the binoculars hanging from a hook. Before she could turn and head back to the stern, motion in the woods beyond her bow drew her eye.
She instinctively ducked lower and lifted her binoculars.
In the distance, dark shapes swept furtively through the cedar forest, heading her way. They came with raised rifles. At least nine or ten.
Merde, she swore.
Were they thieves? Cutthroats? Slavers?
As terror iced through her, she thought quickly. She needed to alert the others. But how? She reached to the pistol holstered at her waist. A warning shot into the air might signal her passengers, but it would also alert the enemy that she was armed.
Better not.
As it was, she was already outgunned and outnumbered.
Instead, she unstrapped her holster, searched around, and tucked her pistol under Aggie’s bed. The monkey already sensed something was wrong and hopped to her shoulder. Charlie feared for his safety, knowing he’d likely be shot on sight. She carried Aggie to the open side window of the cabin, opposite from the approach of the armed men.
She lifted Aggie and pushed him out. He scrabbled to get back in with her, clinging to the sill.
“No,” she scolded and pointed. “Hide. In the forest.”
His little face knotted up with fear.
What am I going to do?
Then she had an idea. She had raised Aggie from an