Chase set the torch on the floor and went up on her toes to cover the creature’s eyes with her hands. For one brief second, as her hands covered the jewels, she felt the Minotaur start to move. Guerrero must have seen it, too, because he called out from behind her. Chase pulled her hands away and tried to step back. It had been only a couple of seconds, but already the large arms had reached around behind her. They hadn’t closed in, so Chase was able to wriggle free. She didn’t want to think about what could have happened if she’d waited longer.

  “Light sensors,” she said. “Or motion. Or both. I have no idea how. Seriously, like, this isn’t . . . this isn’t a thing.”

  “No,” Guerrero agreed.

  “But it’s a thing.”

  “Yes,” Guerrero agreed.

  “Whatever this is, it can’t move in the light.”

  “But Zoe’s camera had the light on.”

  Chase looked down at the camera in her hand, then at the flames flicking from the torch at her feet. “Fire, sunlight, they’re natural,” she said. “Our phones and cameras are LEDs. Maybe there’s a difference in the light.”

  “So they’re robots?”

  “Something like that.”

  “This is nuts.”

  “No argument. But if we know how to stop it, it’s not a threat.”

  They left Chase’s fire on the floor, keeping the two statues frozen in place, then stepped around the Minotaur and pressed on in search of Zoe.

  Chase could feel that they were heading down, deeper into the earth and further from any version of history she’d ever read in a book. After another hundred yards there was more humidity in the air. They stepped in a few small puddles. Soon, the passage opened out into a cavern, where the other two tunnels also converged. The torches didn’t give off enough light to see the size of the chamber, but Chase could feel it spread out and away from them. In front of them was a large metal bowl filled with dark liquid. Guerrero dipped the torch into the dark ooze and it ignited, filling the bowl with flame and spreading light across the chamber.

  A ceiling came into view above them, lined with stalactites that danced in the light of the flickering flames. The darkness at the edges of the cave looked to take on a more solid shape, giving the impression of walls just out of sight. The floor around them was damp and covered with slippery moss. The source of the water was a river at the far end of the large cave. At the river’s edge, covered in moss, mold and other signs of moisture damage, was a large crystal sarcophagus.

  Exactly as Turner had described.

  The final resting place of Alexander the Great.

  Standing between Chase, Guerrero, and the dead king was a third statue. It had the body of a man but the head of a lion and large bronze wings.

  Zoe lay at its feet. Her face was covered in blood.

  Chase knelt over Zoe. She was breathing, and her pulse was strong. Chase wiped away the blood, looking for the wound, and found a thin cut across Zoe’s forehead. It looked worse than it was. She would need to be checked for any lasting head injuries, but that was beyond Chase’s abilities.

  Guerrero stood a few feet away, apparently unwilling to come closer to the statue. “This is not why I got into smuggling,” he said. “How is she?”

  “I think she’s okay. Just out cold.”

  “What do we do? I can carry her out.”

  Chase opened her mouth to say yes but stopped. She could feel the pull of history. Alexander was right here. In this room. Had Forrester made it this far? Chase found it hard to believe he could have found the tomb without wanting to see it through.

  She stepped around the lion statue to look at the sarcophagus. It was much larger than she had expected, about the size of Zoe’s car. Its sides were smooth and flat, with a heavy lid on top. The crystal flickered in the light. Even through the centuries of growth, Chase could make out inscriptions etched into the surface. Scenes of battle. Legends in the languages of ancient Greece and Egypt.

  Chase dropped to her knees.

  She was filled with the sense of awe and wonder that she’d resented in Zoe back in the outer chamber. She felt a rush of something pure and exciting, better than any drug. This was history. More than the pots and pans, the small statues, all the trinkets she had sold over the past decade. This was the reason people got into archeology. She could reach out and touch something that was truly unique, something that had played a part in the founding of the modern world. The sarcophagus had been hidden from the world for more than two thousand years. How many people had seen it in that time? Chase and Guerrero, possibly Forrester. Maybe the Knights of Saint Mark had checked on it. Chase was in a position that only a handful had ever been in.

  She knew in that moment that she couldn’t destroy it. She understood why Forrester had gone to such lengths to hide all the proof, rather than dispose of it. This was history. It was sacred.

  She turned to see Guerrero had followed her lead. He was on his knees, as if in prayer. He shrugged.

  They climbed to their feet and approached the sarcophagus. Chase raised the camera and started to film. There was a wax seal around the lid. The water damage had obscured the view, but Chase could now make out the shape of a human inside. But there didn’t seem to be any mold. Based on what Turner had said, Chase guessed the seal must have been added when the Knights hid the Aten, which would have been around 365 A. D. It had remained unbroken since then. Not even Henry Forrester had tried to open it.

  Chase pulled a knife from her pocket and paused as another wave of emotion hit her. She didn’t feel like it was her place to open this, but she needed to secure whatever was inside, to protect it from Wallace and the Visitologists. She pressed the blade into the seal and ran it all the way around. There was a soft hiss.

  Chase set down the camera, still filming, while she and Guerrero worked their fingers under the lid on each side, nodded to each other, and then lifted it away. They placed the large piece of crystal gently on the ground. Chase picked up the camera and aimed it into the coffin.

  The body inside was shriveled down to the bone, like a mummy. If the timeline was right, Alexander would have been on show for more than five hundred years before the tomb was lost. He was wearing a helmet and armor but no chest plate. Chase half remembered reading that one of the Roman emperors had stolen it to wear himself.

  There was a sword resting beside the body on one side, and a shield on the other. A small assortment of trinkets and coins lined the edges. There was a bundle next to Alexander, wrapped in animal hide, about a yard in length. Guerrero picked up the camera and started filming as she lifted the bundle out. Chase took her time unwrapping the layers, until the hide fell away to reveal a staff.

  It was made of the same material as the key and statues. The shaft was as thick as a guitar neck, tapering to a thinner point at the bottom. The top had a narrow cross section, like a hammer or an arrowhead.

  This was it: the Aten.

  Chase gripped the handle. She felt a hum running through her hands, and then a voice in her head, cracked and hoarse, whispering to her in a language she didn’t understand. What had Turner said? To touch it was to bond with it. Alexander’s thoughts were in her head. She could see his memories. Feel them. His emotions. Ambition. Anger. As she drew on them, she could feel the Aten doing the same.

  Images popped into her head. She was there, in each memory, living them. Armies fell. She stood, with Alexander, in front of the Tower of Babel. He lifted the Aten above his head. Black clouds rolled in, and energy shot down from the sky, destroying the tower.

  She turned to look to the side, and with that, she moved into someone else. Akhenaten. She watched as he issued orders, as a city was built. She witnessed the birth of his son. All the Heretic King’s emotions flowed through her. Resentment. Nerves. He wanted to be loved. Why wouldn’t the people embrace him?

  Another change, more people, more minds and ideas and emotions. Other men and women, going back through history. Names that were familiar, names that were unknown. Images danced in her mind. Where was this? The buildings weren’t familiar. Skyscrapers, ancient skyscrapers. The sun caught them, and they looked to be made of the same material as the key and the statues. Flying machines. Wars. She saw more of the statues, the Anubis, the Minotaur, other variations. They were machines. Drones. They were doing labor, lifting and carrying, as people watched.

  Then another war.

  The war.

  Armies ran at each other. Fury. Aggression. Pure anger and hate. It ran through her, around her, and the Aten wanted more. The sky exploded above the army, a white wall of energy that engulfed everyone. Chase felt the heat on her face and started to give in to the emotions, to the purity of the feelings.

  The voice in her head changed. It was speaking English now.

  Use me.

  Use me.

  Guerrero was calling her name, but she couldn’t focus on his words.

  Then he was easing the Aten from her, wrapping it back up in the animal hide without touching the smooth surface.

  “Where did you go?” he asked.

  “I felt . . . amazing.”

  “You looked angry.”

  Chase breathed in and out. Every sense was heightened. Her heart was pounding. Hands shaking. She could feel the pull to pick up the Aten again, to hear that voice and feel the power. Chase closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to flush the influence from her mind.

  “It’s dangerous,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. “They were right. It’s too dangerous.”

  When Chase opened her eyes, Zoe was sitting up. She wiped the blood from her face with her sleeve and climbed to her feet. She swayed unsteadily where she stood, her eyes locked on the bundle.

  “Is that it? That’s the Aten?”

  “And the dead guy,” Guerrero said, trying for a nervous joke. “Alex, meet Zoe. Zoe, meet Alex.” Guerrero turned to the dead king. “No need to get up.”

  Zoe reached out a hand. There was an odd look in her eyes. It was more than the glassy stare of a concussion; there was a purpose to the expression, even a darkness. Instinctively, Guerrero put the bundle behind him. He looked at Chase. Chase turned to glance back into the coffin as the voice spoke in her head.

  Use me.

  Use me.

  And a different voice now. An echo, a memory of what Zoe had said back at the bookshop: “I could have used you.”

  A gun cocked. Chase knew what she was going to see before she turned. Zoe was holding the Ruger in both hands, aiming it squarely at Guerrero. Guerrero made a strangled noise of surprise.

  “Give it to me,” Zoe said.

  “When did they get to you?” Chase took a slow step forward.

  Guerrero asked, “What’s going on?”

  “She’s with the Visitologists.” Chase took another step toward Zoe. “When was it?”

  Zoe’s mouth turned into a cruel smile. “You’d like it to be because of us, wouldn’t you? Like the only thing I could replace you with was religion. What right did you have, to eat, travel, live off my family’s fortune? And then you, you, living off my money, decided to change the rules? Before I was ready?”

  Zoe’s words were thick and slightly slurred. The head injury was slowing her movements, but that made her dangerous. She was holding the gun, but was she really in control of it?

  “They don’t lie to me,” Zoe continued. “Never have. Never will.”

  Chase took a final step toward the gun. “And how is this supposed to work? You shoot us and claim the tomb for the Church?”

  Zoe’s hands tightened around the grip. She didn’t look comfortable with the feel of it, but Chase couldn’t judge that now. Zoe had killed Turner, and who knew who else? How much blood did she have on her hands, to get to this point?

  “You think I care about a tomb? We want the Aten.”

  “To do what?” Chase shot back. “Prove you’re right? Put your god above everyone else’s? You’ll start a war.”

  “We’re stopping a war. Don’t you see it? We’re right. All the years, the centuries, we’ve always been right. The needless wars over other gods, the murder, the genocide. We just need to be listened to. Trusted. And once we prove it, once it’s our time, we will be ready for the next level. No more war. No more hunger, famine. No more pain. We’re bringing in the new age.”

  Chase focused on only the one thing she believed in the middle of all that. Centuries? The Visitologists dated back to the fifties. But there was another explanation that made all too much sense. If the Knights of Saint Mark had been here the whole time, then . . .

  “Atenists,” Chase said. “You’re Atenists.”

  “Of course. We just rebrand. Change the name, hide away in plain sight, just like Henry’s little pet army. But now we’ve won.” Zoe’s eyes met Chase’s. Something mean flashed behind them. “I killed the last of them. You helped me.”

  Chase remembered seeing the light go out in Georgie Turner. She felt the anger swell but bit back on it. She needed to stay calm. “But why? She could have told you everything.”

  “An accident. I was aiming for her shoulder. Still needed you alive.” She smiled. “Back then.”

  “And what was last night?”

  Zoe laughed. “Nothing.”

  She pulled the trigger.

  FIFTY-TWO

  For just a few seconds, Mason couldn’t remember anything. Then the room came back in around her. This wasn’t like waking up from the drug. Her body was already alert, but her mind felt distant. Fragmented.

  The glove.

  Parish.

  He’d stepped back and was talking into a phone.

  “. . . right here. Yeah, knows about Douglas Buchan. No, not you, I don’t think. I’ll ask. After that, can I? Perfect.” He paused, putting a hand over the phone to talk to Mason. “I’ll murder you momentarily.”

  Mason was piecing her own mind back together at the same time she was trying to follow the conversation. Buchan was in on it. And somebody else. More important, Parish was asking for permission to kill her. He wasn’t the one calling the shots. Mason needed to find out who was behind this.

  What did she know about Parish?

  Purely from his file? Nothing—the file was useless. Mason thought instead of the people she had spoken to. She had told Chase that he “loved conspiracy theories, hated grammar.” That had been a direct quote from someone. She couldn’t remember who, but it didn’t matter. If the same angry kid was still in there behind Parish’s bravado, Mason had a weapon. She could use his ego and his paranoia against him.

  “Really?” Parish sounded excited. “Found it? We should step up the pace. Is she— Okay.” He hung up and turned to Mason. “Where were we?”

  “I think you were about to explain the rest of your plan to me.”

  Parish smiled. “Oh, you’ll be part of it. Don’t worry.”

  Mason laughed. It sounded as genuine as she could manage.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Get on with it.”

  Parish stepped toward her and raised the glove. He paused again when he saw the sly smile at the corner of her mouth. “What?”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Mason said, like she was about to explain how the moon landings were obviously faked. “You don’t know what’s really going on here?”

  Parish cocked his head to one side. “I know we’re winning.”

  Mason’s wrists were rubbed raw. Her hands were numb, and her shoulder muscles were at the tearing point. The move needed to be now.

  “Really.” She laughed under her breath, enough to make him angry. “That’s what they want you to think. You don’t get it? You’re just part of the game. We are so much bigger than you know. And now it’s too late. You didn’t see it in time.”

  Parish stepped in close. Mason could read the confusion in his eyes. That little boy prone to paranoia, seeking answers in conspiracy, now had one to latch on to. He opened his mouth to speak, and Mason made her move.

  She head-butted Parish. As he rocked back on his heels, Mason pulled herself up and wrapped her thighs around his torso, pulling him in tight. She locked her feet together behind him and squeezed. Parish tried to pull away, but Mason held on. His arms were loose, and first he tried pushing at Mason’s legs, trying to pry himself free. When that didn’t work, he started aiming punches at her gut, chest, and face.

  Mason had expected the blows, but that didn’t make them any less painful. She took each one, trying to block out the pain. If Parish had been a more experienced fighter, he would have relaxed, making it easier to wriggle free, or aimed gouges at Mason’s weak spots, like her eyes, mouth, or armpits. Instead, he fought back, twisting and turning, pulling and pushing.

  Mason’s wrists were chafing on the metal of the cuffs, and she felt blood running down her arms. Her shoulders felt like they were being ripped from her body.

  But now it wasn’t just Mason’s weight on the pipe, along with Martyn’s corpse—it was also the struggling Parish.

  Mason felt the pipe bounce. It moved down a couple of inches but didn’t break. She didn’t have much strength left. She looked at the security camera, wondering if anyone had noticed yet. If they had, armed guards would be in here at any moment, and she would be done. Mason felt the stab wound in her side tear open. Parish must have noticed the blood, because he aimed a punch directly into the tender flesh. One. Two. Three.

  Mason yelped in pain and relaxed her grip. Parish pulled free.

  He hit the wound again.

  Mason’s vision blurred.

  Pain and exhaustion were overpowering her, and she felt unconsciousness calling, promising to ease the hurt. Mason knew if she closed her eyes, she might never open them again. She heard the lock being turned in the door behind her.

  Now.

  Something had to happen now.

  Parish stepped in for another hit. Mason put everything she had into pulling herself up, screaming at the pain of it, and wrapping her thighs around his neck.

 

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