Authors: Jeremy Robinson
As was now usual his Monday came and went with no further discovery of any great importance. Pierce returned home to his university campus apartment, sat down and opened his e-mail. After reading the single e-mail in his inbox, he cancelled the Ancient History class three weeks from the semester's end and put Agustina in charge of the Antikythera excavations.
Less than a week and more than 8000 miles later, he arrived in Nazca
The e-mail he received disclosed a report about a new nine headed geoglyph, a massive drawing in the earth created thousands of years ago, from a friend in the U.N. who oversaw world-wide heritage sites. The 175 square mile region in which the famous Nazca lines were found had been declared a world heritage site in 1994. The very first Nazca drawings, discovered in 1929, didn't reach true world-wide fame until planes began flying over the desolate region and people began spotting more geoglyphs—a lot more. From the air, massive line drawings in the desert floor emerged that could not be discerned from the ground. Some, reaching lengths of 1000 feet, could not be seen in their entirety below an altitude of 1500 feet. The geoglyphs came in all shapes and sizes, from spiders to monkeys to men and deities. The discovery of any new geoglyph in the region was immediately reported to the U.N., not because important information might have been gleaned, but because even though the region was officially "protected," looters still pillaged most finds in the area long before researchers set foot in the country.
As a precaution, all archeological finds had to be catalogued, researched and removed to secure locations before news of a new find reached the looters, who would descend like vultures. The geoglyphs rarely held anything more interesting than pot shards and crude digging tools, but surveying and photographing the ancient drawing before the looters tire tracks marred the image was equally important.
During the initial aerial photography session, a large stone that looked like half an egg rising from the desert at the end of the odd creature's central neck leapt out at the photographer. A geoglyph with a three dimensional feature had never been found before. The following day, a team hurried to the site, inspecting the stone and the area around it. All were amazed when they found an inscription on the stone, but no one could read it, though one young college intern recognized the language—Greek.
The discovery had been made one day before Pierce received the e-mail. Given his previous work with the U.N. World-Heritage Commission and his expertise on ancient civilizations, Pierce had been called to the scene. After three plane flights and a long, bumpy and dusty jeep ride, he arrived on site, where a small base-camp had been set up on the hill that overlooked the glyph.
He'd exited the jeep only ten minutes ago and upon seeing the nine headed glyph had run down the hill to where he now stood. He stared at a Greek inscription on a stone that couldn't possibly have come from
He turned to Molly McCabe, the U.N. heritage commission archeologist who'd first documented the site from the sky. The Irish woman had been researching the glyphs since the late eighties and had spent more time in the desert than anywhere else. Generally, the Nazcan geoglyphs were her area of expertise, but she couldn't even recognize Greek, let alone read it.
"You're sure the site was untouched? This has to be a hoax," he said.
"No tire tracks for miles around," she said. "You can't hide those here. No wind. No rain. No erosion. Once something scratches the surface it stays scratched. That's how the geoglyphs have lasted for thousands of years. If someone had been out here in the past two thousand years with a vehicle or so much as a donkey, the evidence would still be plain to see. I suppose someone could have walked here, but only a fool would do that."
"Why's that?" he asked as he gently brushed the inscription clean.
"It'd be a death sentence. You couldn't carry enough water to get you here and back to the world without dehydrating. You'd be a dried out husk within a month." McCabe huffed and ran a hand through her long, grey pony-tailed hair. "So?"
"So..." he said. "What?"
"What the hell does it say?" she said, throwing her hands up.
"Right. Sorry." Pierce usually took his time with new discoveries. If he had things his way the whole glyph would be fenced off then segmented into a grid of strings so discoveries' locations could be marked and later scrutinized. He preferred to work slow and methodically, but he also understood that time was an issue. With each passing day they risked word reaching looters, who had perfected the art of the nighttime raid, focusing on expensive research equipment as much as ancient relics.
He looked at the inscription again, marveling at the text.
Εδω ειναι θαμμενος το θηριο πιο ασχημη. Φλογα και το ξιφος του Βορρα εκανε αθανατο κεφαλι, παντα κατω απο την αμμο και πετρα. Να προειδοποιησει ολους που διαβαζουν αυτα τα λογια. Λαβουν σοβαρα υποψη τους φρουρους 'ανοικτα ακρα και να κρατησει στεγνη τη γη φοβουνται σας μετα το τερας και τη γευση τους μεγαλειωδεις εκδικηση.
The carving was crude, but the stone, like the surrounding desert, hadn't been weathered in two thousand years. The inscription was still as legible as it had been when it was first inscribed.
He translated the lines of text, writing down letters in his small notepad without reading the results in full. McCabe bounced a nervous leg next to his face as he crouched to translate the lowest line. He glanced at her leg and noticed it was quite fit for a woman in her fifties.
"Twenty years ago, George, you might have had a chance," she said with a grin. "But I prefer men my own age."
Pierce smiled and made a final note. "You can't make an exception for me, Molly?"
"George," she said, leaning close to his face.
"Yeah?"
"Read the damn inscription."
Pierce chuckled and read through the inscription that he'd translated. His face fell flat. "It's a hoax."
"George, I guarantee you, this is not a hoax. Now, what does it say?" Her voice was a barely contained shout.
Pierce read from the small notepad. "Here is buried the beast most foul… Fire and sword did sever the head immortal, forever entombed beneath sand and stone. Be warned all who read these words. Heed the screaming guards within and keep dry the earth lest you wake the monster and taste its mighty...vengeance."
McCabe's brow furrowed. "It's a grave?"
Pierce rubbed his eyebrow while he thought. Then, like a horse at the races, he bolted back up the incline. McCabe chased after him. Gasping at the hot, dry air, they stopped at the top of the hill where the U.N. World Heritage base camp had been setup—a small village of tents and trucks. He turned around and looked at the geoglyph with new eyes, which quickly widened. "It's the Hydra."
She squinted. "Hydra?"
Pierce looked at her, his orange-tinged brown eyes blazing. "The Lernaian Serpent. The nine headed swamp-dragon. Child of Typhon and Echidna."
She shook her head. It was all gobbledy-gook to her.
He took her by the shoulders and spoke quickly. "Herakles—"
"Who?"
Pierce sighed. No one knew the man's real name any more. "Hercules. He was the bastard son of Zeus and Alcmene, a human woman. Because of this, he suffered the wrath of Hera, Zeus's jealous wife, who eventually made him go insane. He killed his wife and children. To overcome the madness he stayed at the court of King Eurystheus, seeking purification. He remained there for twelve years and during that time faced twelve trials, or labors. His second trial pitted him against a nine headed creature called the Hydra.... He killed it by—" He froze like an ice cube defying the intense heat of the Nazca plains.
"What is it?" she asked.
"He killed it by severing its central head—its immortal head—and cauterizing it before it could grow a new body." The possibilities spun through Pierce's mind as he continued speaking in a monotone, trance-like voice. "Most legends say that he buried the head under a large stone.... How old is this site?"
"Carbon dating came back at four hundred to five hundred B.C., why?"
"Some scholars, including me, believe Hercules was a real person who lived around four hundred fifty B.C." His eyes widened. "The time fits. Boating in
"The ancient Greeks had sail boats?" she asked.
"Yes," Pierce said, rubbing his eyebrow. "Cargo ships. They weighed up to 150 tons and made the Greek empire very rich from trade. But it may not have been a cargo ship. There was one ship at the time, renowned for its crew and vast explorations. You may have heard of it. The Argo."
She stifled a chuckle. "As in Jason and the Argonauts? I saw the movie, George. Ray Harryhausen may have been a genius with clay, but it's a just a story."
Pierce looked at her, grinning. "You should do some research on scientists the U.N. sends to help you, Molly."
McCabe's smile vanished. "What...?"
"A year ago I discovered an ancient Greek crew manifest for a ship named the Argo in a tomb dated to 400 B.C. Looters had taken the major artifacts, but the manifest, along with other rotting documents, remained hidden in a crevice. Forty men were listed on the manifest. One of them was Hercules."
"Why didn't I read about this?" she asked. "Didn't you publish?"
"The manifest was stolen."
"By who?"
He shrugged casually, not wanting to retell the story about the two cloaked men who broke into his lab, knocked him unconscious and stole the manifest, or explain who he thought they were. Nor did he want to tell her about the Antikythera excavation and the sunken ship they'd found, despite it's bearing on this conversation. His trust took time to earn. "Who knows? But I promise you, it was real. Hercules existed. He wasn't the son of Zeus, but he lived and breathed...and maybe, just maybe, visited
McCabe grabbed his shoulder. "George." He met her eyes, which were squinting as she smiled. "We need to get under that rock."
He nodded slowly, still stunned.
"And George," she said. "We're going to need security. If word of this gets out they'll be no stopping the looters. They'll come in numbers a U.N. badge can't repel."
Pierce snapped out of his haze. "If you have a satellite phone, I know just the man."
3
Ostrov Nosok –
Four invisible specters slid across the frozen sea. Concealed from head to toe in white, military issue thermal armor, the Delta team moved toward their target—a terrorist training camp. The Aden-Abyan Islamic Army had opted for the deserted wasteland of Russia's Siberian north rather than the boiling deserts of their native
"It's time to blow this place sky, fucking high," said Stan Tremblay, call sign: Rook, into his throat mike, which allowed the others to hear him, despite the whipping Arctic winds. "Talk about maximum shrinkage—it's so cold out here I might have to change my name to Susan."
The four prone figures shook slightly with laughter. From a distance they would be indiscernible from the surrounding snow and ice, of which there was an abundance surrounding the U shaped island. Up close they'd look like nothing more than clumps of snow, disturbed by the wind. The only fault in their camouflage was the two, one inch slits in their anti-glare snow goggles, but an enemy would have to be within feet to see the aberration. By then it would be too late.
A dull roar from behind caused the group to become motionless once again. Shin Dae-jung, call sign: Knight, focused on the noise. A vehicle was approaching quickly across the ice, coming from behind and closing on their target. "Motion on our six," he said. "Heads down. Don't move."