John Sneeden - The Hades Conspiracy

“She’s awake,” he barked over his shoulder in heavily accented English. It sounded Eastern European, maybe Russian. She couldn’t be sure.

Chairs groaned across the floor, followed by the sound of more footsteps in the hallway. Two men entered, both dressed in black and carrying pistols. The taller of the two crossed over and sat next to her on the bed. His eyes moved over her body in a way that made her uncomfortable. He lifted her chin with two of his fingers. “You’re even more beautiful when I see your eyes.”

She pushed his hand aside, causing his face to flash with anger. He grabbed her wrist and held it there.

Emily winced. “Let me go!”

The man’s expression softened a bit. The quick transition of expression was frightening. “She’s like little wildcat.” He looked back at the other two. “I think Viktor will like this one.”

Viktor. The name was undoubtedly important. She needed to gather as much information as possible. “Who is Viktor?”

“You find out soon. He’s going to like you like you.”

The man leaned in closer. His breath was a putrid mix of cigarette smoke and cheap beer. His lips moved toward her cheek. Emily managed to squirm her wrist free and caught his face with the back of her hand. She expected to be punched, but instead, the man laughed and rose from the bed. Looking at one of the others, he said, “Put her back down. Maybe she learn to behave better next time.”

Emily knew what was coming next. “No, don’t do that. I promise not to—”

“Remember this next time.” The tall man shook a finger. “We’re going to have lots of questions for you.”

“I’ll tell you now… please!”

One of the remaining men grabbed her and shoved her down on the mattress while another retrieved something out of a nearby drawer. She squirmed, pleading with them not to do it. The man held her more tightly, then Emily felt a sharp sting on her upper arm.

Seconds later, she sank into the ocean again.

The white Fiat 500x raced north along the SS340. With one hand on the wheel, Zane looked to his right. The last rays of the afternoon sun glistened on Lake Como. On the far side of the waters sat the picturesque village of Veranna, its buildings splayed along the shore like a jeweled necklace. Zane enjoyed the history of Rome and the culture of Florence, but given a choice, he would always gravitate to the mountain lakes of the north.

Keeping one eye on the road, he lifted his phone and studied the GPS screen. They were under thirty minutes out from their destination, a nondescript point on a rural road northwest of Menaggio. Despite spending the better part of two hours analyzing satellite images the night before, they were unable to see anything significant in or around the location. There were no buildings or structures of any kind, which Zane thought odd.

“How much longer?” Amanda asked from the back seat.

“Twenty-seven minutes.”

“Is she still asleep?”

Zane glanced at Carmen, who was curled up in the passenger seat next to him. Her eyes were closed, but he doubted she’d really slept through their conversation. “I think there are visions of rigatoni dancing in her head.”

Carmen’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Hush. Let me stay there.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Zane made the final turn. As expected, it was a rural road, devoid of structures. The closest building was a small petrol station about two miles back.

Carmen stirred. “Are we there yet?”

“Just about. That’s a pretty amazing body clock.”

Carmen straightened and opened her eyes. “No, I heard the little voice on your GPS.”

As if on cue, a female voice with a British accent spoke from the phone. “You have reached your destination.”

Zane slowed the car and scanned both sides of the road for anything of significance.

Amanda pointed through the gap in the seats. “There’s a gate over on the left.”

Zane brought the car to a stop opposite the gate. Just beyond, a paved drive wound up into a thick forest that covered the crown of the mountain. He presumed it led to a house.

“I guess this explains why we couldn’t see anything from the satellite views,” Carmen noted.

“I’m surprised we didn’t at least see the gate,” Amanda said.

Carmen nodded. “Maybe it was all constructed after the most recent images.”

Not wanting to park so close to the entrance, Zane continued down the road, eventually pulling behind some bushes lining a field on the left. It wouldn’t completely conceal the vehicle, but it would have to do. After killing the engine, he got out, opened the rear hatch, and removed a small piece of luggage hidden under a pile of clothes. He opened it then removed the faux bottom. Underneath were pistols, magazines, and flashlights.

After Zane distributed the gear, the three walked back down the road.

“ Nebbia ,” Carmen said.

Zane looked at her. “What?”

She nodded to their left. “Fog.”

Zane looked down the mountain. A raft of steel-gray clouds had already covered most of Lake Como and was slowly making its way up the slope, a common occurrence here. A foggy mist would appear over the water at dusk, then fill the entire valley as the evening wore on. To Zane, it added to the charm and mystique of the area. Upon arriving at the gate, they slipped through the shrubs and began the trek up the paved drive.

Carmen looked at Amanda as they entered the cover of the trees. “Any idea why a group might want a map so badly? How could it possibly be so valuable?”

“The first thing I thought of was some hidden cache of treasure,” Amanda replied. “Have you heard of the Copper Scroll?”

“Wasn’t that one of the Dead Sea Scrolls?” Carmen asked.

Amanda nodded. “It was found in Cave Three at Qumran in 1952. It describes a mysterious stash of coins, vessels, gold, and silver. Some have estimated the value of the supposed treasure at millions of dollars.”

“I’ve heard of that scroll but didn’t realize it was a map,” Zane said.

“It’s not a map, per se, but it does describe where the treasure is hidden. Unfortunately, I doubt it will ever be discovered because the places it described either can’t be deciphered, or they no longer exist.”

Zane looked at Amanda. “That reminds me of what Dr. Pauling talked about in the video. He said it was like having the map of a neighborhood, but you don’t know where the neighborhood is.”

“Precisely,” Amanda agreed. “And like the Copper Scroll, the place this map describes may never be found.”

“Maybe it gives the location of Atlantis,” Carmen added. “It seems like every few years, someone claims to have found it. I’m guessing every treasure ring in the world would like to get their hands on its location.”

“Assuming it’s a real place, the discovery of Atlantis would certainly pay financial dividends,” Amanda replied. “Imagine the street value of the artifacts.”

As the group continued in silence, Zane surveyed the woods. The fog wound through the trees like a gray phantom. He saw and heard nothing, save for the occasional flap of wings as birds settled in for the evening. He wondered if the group who’d killed Pauling knew of this location. It was certainly possible. After all, the residence in Venice was not owned in Pauling’s name, yet they’d managed to find it.

Twenty minutes later, the road emerged from the woods near the mountain’s peak. Carmen slowed and pointed. Darkness had fallen, but Zane was able to see the outline of a one-story home just ahead.

“You didn’t see this on the maps?” Amanda whispered.