the deck and over to the gunwale nearest the beach. The Son of Mūsā posted on that side popped his head up, never suspecting the prisoners were suddenly armed. Charlie was not so lax, having sized up every position. From a yard away, she fired into the man’s face. His body flew back, sprawling across the sand.
They leaped over the rail together. Charlie darted toward the front of the boat, ducked low, and fired under the curve of the bow. A scream rose on the far side.
Charlie rounded the cruiser. Elena hurried to follow. Running low, Elena caught sight of Charlie closing in on the Daughter of Mūsā who had been guarding that side. The Daughter was down on her hip, her ankle blown out and bloody. Still, she crawled toward the submachine gun she had dropped in the sand when she fell.
Charlie stalked over and, with cold deliberation, shot her in the back of the head, low, under the edge of the helmet. The woman’s body jerked and went limp.
“Grab the rifle,” Charlie ordered, covering Elena with her pistol as they retreated toward the woods.
Elena obeyed—or tried to. She reached for the weapon’s strap, only to have the sand blast up near it, chasing her off. The chatter of automatic fire drove her away.
Kadir . . .
Charlie fired toward the cruiser’s stern, momentarily forcing the giant into hiding. It bought them enough time to reach the dense cedar forest. They crashed through the branches, burying themselves into the cover.
Then the world exploded to Elena’s right.
Needles, branches, and bark blasted and pelted into them.
She pictured Kadir’s weapon with its under-barrel grenade launcher.
Charlie grabbed her arm and hauled her in the opposite direction—only to be met by another explosion ahead. They dodged away. Kadir might be blindly shelling into the forest, but it only took one lucky shot.
“Run!” Charlie yelled.
“Where?”
“Away!”
Right.
For now, that was all the plan they needed.
Together they fled deeper into the forest.
6:54 P.M.
Thirty yards down the dark tunnel, Nehir heard muffled booms echo behind her. She glanced back to the sunlit cave, still hazed with smoke. The rocket-propelled grenade had blown away one of the gate’s doors. It lay crumpled behind her.
Her remaining twenty-two Sons and Daughters gathered with her in the tunnel.
She weighed whether or not to send one or two back to investigate. But as she strained her ears, she heard no further explosions. Satisfied, she turned back around and waved the others to follow. Until she rooted out the Americans hiding here, she wanted every soldier left to hold this place.
If there were truly any problem behind her, she trusted Kadir to have her back—as he had her entire life.
Content with this thought, she ran with the others, rifles raised. From their weapons’ rail-mounted flashlights, sharp beams of light lanced through the darkness ahead.
Then a new noise slowed her pace.
Not a boom, this time—but a low, deep, ominous rumble, coming from all around. She felt it in her legs. It shivered all the small hairs on her arms.
What’s making that noise?
She lifted a hand, halting the team.
She glanced behind her again. She stared at the sunlit cave, which was almost out of sight as the tunnel curved. Still, she spotted the crumpled bronze door, the relic of their forced entry.
Maybe that was a mistake.
Sixth
Prometheus Unbound
Now of another portent thou shalt hear.
Beware the dogs of Zeus that ne’er give tongue,
The sharp-beaked gryphons, and the one-eyed horde
Of Arimaspians, riding upon horses,
Who dwell around the river rolling gold,
The ferry and the frith of Pluto’s port.
Go not thou nigh them.
—AESCHYLUS, PROMETHEUS BOUND, 430 B.C.
40
June 26, 6:52 P.M. WEST
High Atlas Mountains, Morocco
“Forgive us our trespasses,” Kowalski muttered.
By the time the group had circled the huge lake and reached the golden stairs leading up to the palace, the entire city had begun to rumble all around them.
“When the others broke in here,” Gray said, “they must have triggered some sort of defense mechanism.”
“Look!” Mac pointed to the left, toward the highest tier of the city.
At the top of the nearest stairway, the bronze gate that had closed off a tunnel up there had begun to open. Dark water gushed out from beneath the rising door. Kowalski turned a full circle, noting the same was happening at the top of all five main stairways.
As the bronze gates opened wider, the flowing water became a whitewater torrent down the steps, transforming the stairways into churning spillways. The strong smell of the sea accompanied the flows, stinging the air with salt and spray.
“Get back!” Gray