The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,121

considered this. He knew they had barely scratched the surface regarding the true mysteries hidden here, but perhaps it was best to leave any further exploration to the experts.

This plan was supported by Father Bailey. “Maybe we should heed Mr. Kowalski,” the priest warned.

Bailey had wandered off to where a wide ramp led down from the terrace to the topmost tier of the city. But the priest had his back to the dark metropolis, his flashlight pointed at the wall at the top of the ramp. The beam swept over lines crudely carved into the limestone, like some ancient graffiti.

“It’s Arabic,” Bailey said and turned. “A message left behind by those who fled from here.”

“Hunayn and his men.” Gray joined the priest at the wall. “Can you read it?”

“Mostly. I studied Arabic, but this script is over a thousand years old.”

Maria drew closer. “What does it say?”

Bailey ran his beam like a finger across the lines of Arabic. “‘Here Tartarus slumbers. Walk softly, tread with caution. Do not wake what should forever sleep. Do not tarry, dear traveler. Pestilence is in the very air, curses left behind by Pandora. It drove those who once lived here mad, from peaceful benefactors to maddened conquerors.’”

Gray wondered if Hunayn was referring to some sort of radiation sickness. Was that why the benevolent Phaeacians of Daedalus and Medea—who seemed willing to share their knowledge, who helped Odysseus on his journey home—became the destroyers of civilizations, a Sea People leaving a path of ruin behind them, then vanishing?

Bailey continued, “‘For daring to dabble with the gifts of Prometheus, their people of Tartarus became warped, their children born monstrous. They eventually fled, locking their evil and their dread curses behind gates of bronze and never speaking of this place again, letting foul Tartarus fall into myths and legends.’”

Gray glanced back to the city. To learn all of this, Hunayn and his men must have spent considerable time scouring the place, reading ancient texts of the city’s history.

Bailey revealed as much as he continued. “‘Heed the lesson of my reckless trespass. We dared to wake Tartarus, to stir its fiery defenders, and suffered greatly because of it. I only saved the last of us by forcing the city back to its dark slumber. If you should follow in my tragic footsteps, seek the same beyond the palace, where the fires of Hades burn and Titans loom. But Charon will demand his price.’”

Bailey stopped and explained. “Charon was the old man who ferried souls across the River Styx into Hades.”

“But what’s that price you mentioned?” Kowalski asked.

“More than Charon’s usual coin, it seems.” Bailey returned to the wall and continued his recitation. “‘The bravest of all must ford the poisonous lake, one who would forsake his life for his brother. It is how we put Tartarus into slumber. May Allah forever grace Abd Al-Qadir for his sacrifice. In his esteemed memory, I used the knowledge of my brothers—we who call ourselves the Banū Mūsā—to fabricate a final end. So, dear traveler, if you wake Tartarus, know it will be for the last and final time. You have been so warned.’”

“Then it’s signed Hunayn ibn Mūsā ibn Shākir.” Bailey sighed and stepped back. “The captain must have left here with his last ship, full of cargo as proof of his discovery and perhaps to warn the world.”

“Then the storm blew his ship off course,” Gray said. “Gave him time to reconsider whether it was worth the risk to bring that deadly cargo into the wider world.”

“He may have also believed the storm was a sign from Allah,” Bailey said. “Hunayn had to wonder if the hand of god was punishing him, casting him astray—not unlike his friend Odysseus—all to keep the world safe.”

Mac pointed at the wall. “But what the captain wrote there at the end? What was that all about?”

Gray stared up at the inscription. “It sounds like Hunayn rigged some sort of failsafe into the city’s systems. Not only to shut it down, but to destroy it entirely, if anyone dares trespass here again.”

Kowalski pointed back to the tunnel. “Then let’s not do that.”

Gray tamped down his burning curiosity and agreed. “We should head back.”

With a relieved exhalation, Kowalski scowled at the dark city. “Let’s hope we’re not already too late.”

37

June 26, 6:15 P.M. WEST

High Atlas Mountains, Morocco

Elena was imprisoned on yet another boat.

She stood in the little cabin of an aluminum cruiser beached at the side of a shallow river. She shared the space with another