Atlantis: Gate (2 page)

Foreman nodded, remembering events almost forty years ago. “We picked up the Bermuda Triangle gate opening from a reconnaissance plane flying the blockade. I called Professor Kolkov in Moscow immediately on the CIA landline. He got hold of the Russian military and they managed to change the freighter’s course. It avoided the gate. That was the last day of the crisis. That freighter picked up the first of the missiles from Cuba that night and removed them.”

Dane ran a callused hand over the metal railing, listening to the gentle lap of the sea against the ship. “I felt what Frost did. That’s not a normal dream. And I saw the freighter get caught in the Bermuda Triangle gate.”

“Why would you get a vision of something that didn’t happen?” Foreman asked.

Dane had been thinking about that while he stood at the railing. “We’re missing something important about these Gates and the true nature of the Shadow. Something very important. I was given that vision for a reason.”

“Get some sleep,” Foreman said. “We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.” He nodded toward the pitch-black wall two miles to the west, the Devil’s Sea gate that Dane had escaped out of the previous day.

The CIA agent wandered off into the dark. For the first time Dane wondered why Foreman had been out in the middle of the night also. Then, unbidden, the thought struck him that maybe what he had seen
had
happened. How that could be, he had no idea, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.

480 BC. GREECE

The King, one of the few kings who still ruled in Greece against the rising wave of democracy, was alone, a most strange occurrence for someone of his rank. Leonidas was also far from his kingdom. Sparta was one hundred and fifty kilometers due south of his current location. He rode along a rocky trail that wound its way through the steep hills that constituted the northern shore of the Gulf of Corinth. He saw a temple on a mound to the right and knew he was close to his goal. It was dedicated to Apollo who was worshipped here at Delphi.

He pulled back on the reins, eyes darting about in the shadow cast by the two cheek guards of his bronze helmet. His right hand went to the pommel of his sword, resting there, fingers lightly curled over it. There was no one about, which was most strange. Usually the area was crowded with supplicants trying to see the Oracle. Still, he felt a strong sense of threat, as if an enemy force lay in ambush. Decades of warring—and living to learn the lessons-- had taught him to trust these feelings.

Then he noted the fog, a thick, unnatural mist, creeping up from the low ground to the south, out of the Gulf. He spurred the horse forward, passing the necropolis that held the temple and the place where the Oracle held formal meetings with supplicants. The sacred grove was ahead, but he edged the horse toward the Corycian Cave.

The fog was rising faster, covering all the land below and coming closer. Leonidas halted as a torch appeared in the mouth of the cave. An old woman, wrapped in a long white cloak held the flame.

“Quickly,” she called out. “Enemies come.”

Leonidas rode up to her and dismounted, drawing his xiphos—sword-- as his feet touched the ground. He pulled his heavy shield off the saddle and hefted it with his off-hand.

“You must attack the eyes,” the Oracle said. “It is the only place they are vulnerable to your weapon.”

“Whose eyes?”

With her free hand, the Oracle pointed toward the mist. “There.”

Leonidas turned. A white figure floated in the front edge of the fog, less than forty feet away and approaching rapidly. At first the King thought it was a ghost or a demon of the gods, as it was completely covered in white and its feet were six inches above the ground. It moved as if carried by the fog.

But when it raised its arms, hands extended, and he saw the foot long blades on the end of each finger, he knew this thing was real. He went on guard, sword point toward the creature, shield covering the other half of his body and waited. He felt a moment’s shock as he saw that its face was featureless white, with only two red eyes, bulging like an insect’s.

It swiped at him and he ducked the blow, blocking the second swipe from the other hand with his sword. Then he struck, a lifetime of military training making the movement lightning quick.

The tip of the xiphos entered the creature’s left eye, smashing through the crystal. The arm propelling the metal blade was well-muscled and covered with scars that rippled as the sword plunged deeper into the smooth white face. Leonidas twisted the sword, the metal scraping along the rim of the socket, giving to the harder white material. He jerked back, pulling his sword out as a terrible scream rent the night.

The creature struck at him once more, the blow so powerful that it dented his shield and knocked it from his left hand. He jabbed with the sword once more, point hitting the open socket and the creature screeched, pulling back. The creature floated backward into the thickening mist. The Oracle was behind Leonidas’s right shoulder.

“Wait,” she whispered as the creature disappeared. “There’s something else out there.”

Leonidas checked his blade. The edge was ruined where it had caught on the creature’s armor. The shield lay five feet away and slightly behind him and he dared not turn his back on the fog to retrieve it.

“What was that?” he asked as he peered into the mist.

“A Valkyrie,” the Oracle said. “An emissary of the Shadow.” She pointed once more. “There.”

Something bounded through the fog, an animal. But like none the King had ever seen. It had the head of a serpent, body of a lion, and the tail of a scorpion. Leonidas barely had time to register that image before he was on the defensive, slashing at the darting head, and ducking to avoid the simultaneous jab by the barbed tail.

The snakehead struck again, getting past the sword and slamming into Leonidas’s chest, the strike blunted by the armor, venom spurting onto the metal. Before the head could pull back, Leonidas parted it from the body with one mighty downward stroke.

Breathing hard, he stood over the strange body, looking at the fog, waiting for the next opponent. But the mist was dissipating, pulling back, revealing the stars and quarter moon above.

“It is over,” the Oracle said.

Leonidas was aware that he was gasping and abruptly slowed his lungs to not appear tired or afraid in front of the old woman. There was a strange hissing noise and he glanced down to note that the creature’s venom was eating through the metal on his chest. Cursing, he quickly ripped off his breastplate and threw it down to the ground.

“What was this?” With the tip of his sword he prodded the body of the creature he had just killed.

“A demon creature from the other side,” the Oracle said.

“Other side of what?”

“Come into my cave and warm yourself by my fire,” the Oracle turned and disappeared into the cave, the torch reflecting off stone walls.

Leonidas checked his armor first. There was a four-inch long by half-inch wide hole in the breastplate, where the venom had eaten through. He touched the edge of the hole with the tip of his sword but nothing happened. Carefully he put the armor back on, and then he followed the woman inside. The Oracle sat in a stone throne opposite a glowing blue stone set in the floor. Leonidas frowned, and as he watched, the glow disappeared. Another strange thing in an evening of the bizarre, he thought.

The Oracle thrust the torch into a pile of kindling and started a small fire. “Sit,” she instructed, pointing to a flat black stone opposite her.

Leonidas hesitated, not wanting to be lower than her. Reluctantly he settled down on the rock. “You sent for me,” he said.

“You are a King.” The old woman’s voice held an edge that Leonidas didn’t like.

“I am,” he replied. He was uncomfortable sitting stiffly in front of the old woman. The journey to Delphi had been hard, not because of physical difficulties, but because of the constant reports brought to him by scouts about the invading Persian forces.

King Xerxes of Persia was leading his massive army forward out of Asia. He was near the Hellesponte—the waterway dividing Asia and Europe-- and would be on Greek soil soon. The fools in Athens were too concerned with the
Carneia
, an annual festival and the preparations for the Olympic games, which were to be held soon. Or so they claimed, Leonidas thought. Cowardice took on many faces and many excuses. Athens and Sparta had been at each other’s throats for generations and he knew there was much debate among the leaders of Athens about which posed the greater threat: the Persians invading or allying with Sparta. It was one of the many failings he saw with democracy; the inability to take decisive action when time was short.

“You are a Spartan.”

Leonidas knew that the rest of Greece viewed his home city as something of an enigma. The difference came not because Sparta still had a king, but because of the focus in Spartan society on the military. In essence, the entire city-state was designed to support its army. Because of that, Sparta was the most powerful city-state in Pelonnese, the southwestern part of Greece, connected to the rest of Greece by only a narrow isthmus. The city was located on the northern end of the central Laconian Plain on the Eurotas River and commanded the only land routes in Laconia.

Even the Spartan heritage was somewhat different than the rest of Greece. They were descended from the Dorians who had invaded that locale around 1,000 BC. That was the reality; the legend the Spartans preferred was that their city was founded by Lacedaemon, a son of Zeus.

The society had three classes—the Spartiates, who were the only ones allowed to vote; the Perioikoi, or free men, who did not have the vote but were graciously allowed to fight and die for the state; and then the helots, who while technically not slaves, were only slightly better off than if they had been.

The old woman continued. “You are a warrior. There are times when warriors are needed and this is one of them.”

“You summoned me, old woman.”

“You had a vision,” she corrected.

“You summoned me,” he repeated, unwilling to discuss the vivid dream he’d had a week ago, directing him to Delphi and to travel alone. Even though he was not a strong believer in dreams and visions, the dream had been so strong, he’d known he had to follow the path it indicated. He had never been here before, but he had seen the woman before him in the dream so he knew now it was a true vision. Of course, he had not seen the Valkyrie or strange creature in the dream, which might have been helpful. Such was the ways of the gods—to show one hand, while keeping the other hidden.

The Delphic Oracle sighed. “Who are you loyal to?”

There was no hesitation in the answer. “Sparta.”

“And Greece?”

Leonidas shrugged. “If the threat to Greece is a threat to Sparta, yes.”

“You have called up your troops in response to the Persian threat,” the Oracle noted. “Yet Athens hasn’t and they would fall to King Xerxes’ forces before Sparta.”

“Why am I here?” Leonidas pressed.

“I too have seen a vision I could not ignore.”

The Spartan waited.

“You will fight the Persians,” the Oracle said. “And you will gain much honor and fame. And you will die.”

Leonidas’s scarred and tanned face was smooth, no reaction apparent.

“But there is something you must do before you die,” the Oracle added.

“Besides kill Persians?”

“There is something you must take from the Gates of Fire.”

“Thermopylae?” Leonidas frowned.

“Yes. It is where you will fight the Persians. You must get there first. And you must recover something and send it back to me safely.”

“What is this thing?” Leonidas was already picturing the tight pass in his mind, realizing it was an excellent location to set up the defense against Xerxes’ overwhelming numbers. However, defending there would leave northern Greece—the city-states of Thessalia-- open to the ravages of the Persians, which had strong implications for various alliances. Still, if-

“Listen to me,” the Oracle snapped, as if knowing his mind was already drawn to the battle and tactics. He blinked, not used to be talked to in such a brusque manner.

“What you must save is a circle,” she made a vague gesture with her hands in front of her. “A sphere,” she amplified.

“Of?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re the Oracle of Delphi. How can you not know? And if you don’t know, why should I do this?”

“It is important. Not just Greece, but the entire world lies in the balance.”

“What is this important sphere?”

“It is a kind of map.”

“Of?” he asked once more.

“I don’t know. But someone else will.”

“Who?”

The Oracle’s eyes lost their focus as she looked inward. “Someone who is not yet alive, but is alive. One who is of this world, but not of this world. Another warrior, like you, but not like you.”

“Riddles.” Leonidas pulled off his helmet, revealing chiseled features and a lined face. White hair spilled out, tied in a ponytail that touched the back of his neck.

“No, the commands of the gods. Will you do it?”

“You promise me glory and honor and death in battle.” He smiled, highlighting a scar on his left cheek. “What Spartan could refuse such an offer? I will do it.”

CHAPTER 1 THE PRESENT

A little old lady was walking across a flat stony plain in Peru, an umbrella held in one hand to protect her from the sun, the other carrying a folding canvas seat. She had a faded leather backpack looped over one shoulder. Her skin was tanned and leathery, etched with lines from many years in the harsh sun.

Cresting a small hill in the middle of the plain, Dr. Leni Reizer opened the stool and sat down, giving a sigh of relief as she did so. She’d lived in the valley of the Nazca for over fifty years and the combination of heat, sun, dryness and age was beginning to wear on her.

She was in the exact center of a high plain between the Inca and Nazca valleys. The plain was almost fifty miles long and several miles in width. To the east, the high peaks of the Andes were visible, white capped and wreathed with clouds. The ground was hard packed, littered with small stones.