Beyond Hades: The Prometheus Wars (2 page)

"Where?" demanded the general. "Tell me where this thing goes."

"Into Hell."

Bestial howling roared through the cavernous room. The lights exploded, thrusting them into the bowels of darkness....

CHAPTER 1

"Doctor Harrison, your brother is dead."

The cordless phone dropped, fracturing the glass tabletop, the numbness of shock skewering Talbot's mind like a fencer's rapier. He stared at the receiver, a buzzing rattled upon the cracked glass as the voice questioned what had happened. A part of Talbot's brain seemed to shut down, and he struggled to comprehend what had just been relayed to him. Fumbling with the telephone, he raised it once more to his ear.

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "Who did you say you are again?" he mumbled.

"I work with the same branch of the Government as your brother Thomas,"
answered the voice.
"My name is General William Sharpe."

"My brother never worked for the Government," said Talbot softly, almost to himself. "He was a lecturer on Greek mythology at Stanford University."

"He has been with us for the last six months. I take it you weren't close."

"We talk on the phone about once a year," muttered Talbot, his mind still wrestling with the enormity of what this strange man was trying to tell him. Thomas couldn't be dead. It just wasn't possible.

The general was right, they hadn't been close, but Talbot would have known; he'd
have
to know if his brother were dead. The man on the other end of the phone was surely lying. Talbot stared at the mirror opposite him, his eyes gazing back intensely, imploring him to find some sort of fault with what was being said. The sounds of NYC traffic outside the apartment blended into the background as he stared hard into the same frowning gray eyes as his brother's.

Talbot wasn't a large man, but he wasn't small either. Like everything else in his life, his stature was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, he was so stereotypically normal, most people hardly even noticed him. His features were chiseled, but not handsome enough to garner the attention he'd craved as a teenager. Light freckles dotted his clean-shaven cheeks beneath a mop of messy brown hair.

"I'm afraid there was an accident at the site where we were working. Your brother was killed... in a rockslide."
General Sharpe's voice offered just the slightest hesitation, dragging Talbot's attention back to the subject at hand.

His brother was dead.

Dead.

"But he lectures at Stanford," insisted Talbot. "He hates fieldwork."

"Unfortunately, what I'm telling you is true, Doctor Harrison. Transport will arrive soon to collect you."

Talbot's attention snapped into crystal focus. "What do you mean? Collect me for what?"

"There is very little I can tell you over the telephone, Doctor Harrison, but your brother was working on something of extreme importance. It is a matter of national security. And now we need your help."

A brisk knock sounded at the door.

"I believe that is your escort now, Doctor Harrison. I will see you soon. Goodbye."

Talbot attempted to argue, but the phone line was dead.

A second knock came from the front door, this time more insistent.

Dazed from the conversation, Talbot rose from the chair - he couldn't even remember sitting down - and shuffled to the entryway of his cramped apartment. Swinging open the door, he was confronted by two very large, very serious-looking United States marines in full camouflage combat attire. The men appeared almost identical in appearance: motley green and brown camouflaged caps pulled down at the front; broad shoulders tapering to narrow waists. The only real difference between them was that the one on Talbot's right was holding an assault rifle up, scanning around for....

Scanning for
what
?

They were standing in the middle of Talbot's hallway. The worst thing likely to attack them there were rogue cockroaches. New York's were always the worst, but nothing warranted such a weapon or reaction. Besides which, this man wasn't just aiming at the floor, his weapon was moving everywhere, up walls and across the ceiling.

"Sir," began the one facing Talbot, a huge brute of a man, his forearms like tree trunks, his cap partially obscuring a face which bore the likeness of a concrete block. "I am Colonel Sam Wilson. We're here to escort you to Marine Corps Base Quantico in Virginia, around two hundred and fifty miles from here. It should take us a couple of hours - depending on headwind. Once there you will be briefed on the situation. I regret neither myself nor Captain Benedict," he indicated the armed marine, "will be able to answer any questions you may have."

"Quantico? Headwind? I'm not going anywhere," replied Talbot, his voice shaking as his heart hammered in his chest and sweat dripped into his eyes.

Colonel Wilson's brows narrowed slightly. "Sir, I have orders to bring you to Quantico. That means you're coming with us if I have to gag you and truss you up in duct tape." There was no negotiation is his tone. The second marine ominously shouldered his weapon, the action strangely more distressing than when he had been aiming it at nothing.

"B-but -" Talbot's protests were cut off as the two marines gripped him securely by the upper arms and dragged him out, marching him down the hallway and out of the building, leaving Talbot sputtering useless arguments as the door to his apartment swung in the breeze.

Emerging onto the normally busy New York street, Talbot's complaints abruptly halted. Astonishment hit him like a crossbow bolt as they cleared the doorway. A massive Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion helicopter sat in the middle of the cordoned-off street. No fewer than two-dozen fully-armed marines surrounded the chopper and local police had blocked all traffic with their vehicles. Military weaponry and equipment had always been a hobby for Talbot, but right now the last thing on his mind was how cool the enormous Super Stallion appeared.

In his thirty two years, nothing even remotely similar had ever happened to him. The two marines propelled him purposefully into the rear of the chopper. He tried to question what was going on, protesting futilely about the need to secure his apartment, but his pleas met only stony silence.

With little option, Talbot sat down on the thinly-cushioned bench seat, contemplating his predicament as a chunky headset was offered to him. He put it on, he'd need it for in-flight conversation... not that he anticipated being told anything. Watching the marines swiftly and methodically file into the belly of the Super Stallion, Talbot tried to grasp the reality of this entire situation. None of this could be true.

"
Like I said, Doctor Harrison
," buzzed the voice of Colonel Wilson over his headphones, "
our trip should only take a couple of hours. If anything happens, keep your head down.
"

Unsure of what could possibly happen, Talbot merely nodded at the colonel, who in turn began relaying orders to the rest of the crew. Talbot's job at the American Museum of Natural History occasioned the odd trip into the field to a dusty dig site, but nothing approaching the incredible whirlwind of events he now found himself sucked into. No other event in his life had prepared Talbot for what was occurring, and he was silently thankful the rattling of his psyche had somehow been muted in the onslaught of everything that was going on.

Glancing around, he attempted to take in every detail. The shocking news of his brother's death had somehow dispersed with the affront of being dragged from his own doorway. Self preservation had shot to the forefront of his priorities. According to General Sharpe, his brother had been involved in something serious, and gawping around at the cold-faced marines, their equipment scarred from battle, along with the
thud, thud, thud
of the Super Stallion's main rotor pounding beyond his headphones, Talbot found himself swiftly convinced.

These marines were the real deal, and Talbot had no option other than to follow their orders, much as it grated against his sense of pride. Although he'd always thought himself physically fit, Talbot doubted he could tackle even
one
of the marines holding him against his will. Three weight training sessions a week and a fortnightly class at the local boxing gym didn't qualify him as a badass.

The chopper's engines powered up, the main and tail rotors whining as they picked up speed, lifting the massive vehicle ponderously up. Suddenly, seeming to tear free of gravity, they were shooting through the sky. Gunners assumed positions on either side of the Super Stallion, a third positioning himself at the rear. Occasionally the headphones would blurt some incomprehensible babble in Talbot's ears.

Alone in his thoughts, his mind returned to his brother. Thomas had always been introverted. They'd been close as boys - twins, especially identical ones, are always close - but, following the death of their mother, a fissure had formed between them. Cancer was a horrible thing to witness, and the withered, living-corpse their mother had become would always haunt Talbot's memories. Nothing could dull the pain of her passing.

Throughout their schooling, the boys' interests had funneled into similar channels. Both enjoyed the challenge of athletics, though neither excelled. They eventually chose more scholarly pursuits, Thomas majoring in Greek history, while Talbot had pursued his fascination with archaeology, his final grades coming in the top five percent of the state.

And now Thomas was dead.

His statement to General Sharpe hadn't been an exaggeration; Talbot couldn't remember the last time he and Thomas had really communicated. When they spoke, their conversations were always stilted, nothing personal. The gap between them had stretched into a chasm. Too much lay between the two who had once been so close -

Suddenly, a high-pitched screech pierced the cabin with such intensity that Talbot's eyes watered. The chopper exploded into activity, marines all around him swiftly moving into defensive positions and preparing for attack.

But what could be attacking them? Who were they at war with?

"Port side! Port side! Incoming!"
one of the marines hollered through his headphones.

A torrent of flame poured over the entire left side of the Super Stallion, licking and probing, flinging the huge helicopter to the right like a child's toy. The port-side gunner's window offered no protection and he was engulfed in a green liquid which rapidly burst into flames - the blaze burning a sickly blue-green. His howls filled the cabin, and Talbot recoiled from the thick stench of burning flesh. A fellow marine crashed the gunner to the floor and tried to smother the conflagration, but only succeeded in transferring the inferno to himself. A small extinguisher was hurled forward, another marine catching it and hastily dousing the flames on both men, but Talbot could see the body of the gunner, and it was crispy. The second man's screams echoed through the enclosed chopper.

"It's redirecting starboard!"
the internal radio blared. The right-side gunner's XM218 machine gun erupted, discharging thousands of rounds at an incredible rate.

Talbot snapped his gaze around fearfully and saw something... something
incredible
!

It soared gracefully, gliding through the air against any reason or logic which might dictate against a creature of such size being so incredibly maneuverable or swift. The head and wings of an eagle crowned the body of a lion and the tail of a snake. The creature calmly weaved between the tracer rounds, something of myth -
Greek
mythology to be exact, Thomas's expertise.

A
gryphon
.

It seemed impossible. There was no way the thing Talbot was seeing could be real, but there it soared before him, majestic wings spanning over half the length of the Super Stallion. The beast's body was enormous too, dwarfing that of an African bull elephant. There was no way it could possibly exist. No way.