Winthrop found himself standing in an oval chamber, the ceiling of which featured three rectangular openings, allowing sunlight to fill the room.
Set on the altar, looking both enticing and horrifying was The Devil’s Heart. It was a reddish-colored stone, in the general shape of a human heart. The sunlight caught on its surface and glittered, almost making it look like it was beating in time to Winthrop’s own heart.
Just behind the altar stood another statue, one very much like the guards outside the temple. It stood just over five feet in height, with a squat but powerful-looking body and a demon’s head. A sword was held in its hands, tip against the floor.
Winthrop stared at the floor and walls, seeking to see if there were any clues to more spikes or a false floor. Finally admitting to himself that he saw nothing, he moved forward, creeping towards the Heart. His torch fluttered suddenly, the flame dancing before going out. Winthrop stopped immediately. The wind had apparently come in from the sunroof above and as he looked up, he saw overhanging limbs buffeted to and fro. A storm was coming.
Turning his attention back to the Heart, Winthrop tossed the extinguished torch aside. Once he had the artifact, he could find his way back, even in the dark. He had a meticulous memory, almost photographic in its complexity. The only reason he kept going back to the temple map was because it helped relax his nerves.
He reached a hand out to the Heart but stopped just short of touching it. Was there one last trap to be worried about? Would the removal of the idol set off some weight-sensitive trigger? A quick glance around assured him that no massive rock was going to roll out to crush him but he still felt uncertain.
Taking a deep breath, he snatched the Heart off the altar and shoved it quickly under his arm. It weighed less than it looked and was strangely warm to the touch.
The sudden sound of grinding stone elicited a mumbled curse from Winthrop’s lips. He turned towards the noise and his eyes widened considerably. The stone guard was moving, its eyes now shining with malevolence. The stone blade rose from the floor, borne aloft by thick arms. A sound came from the thing’s throat, a rumbling growl that spoke of ancient rage.
For a few seconds, Winthrop was too stunned to move. But when the guard lunged for him, swinging the blade with such force that it whistled through the air, he found himself jumping aside. The weapon smashed into the floor and the guard yanked it free with another roar.
Winthrop bolted for the door, only to find that it had closed behind him. Shoving against it didn’t seem to work and he was hesitant to risk coming into contact with the poison.
Alerted by the heavy footsteps behind him, he ducked down just as the stone warrior slammed his weapon against the door.
Winthrop sprinted around the warrior, looking for another exit. All he saw were the three rectangular windows above. If he could reach them, he might conceivably squeeze through one of them….
Again the warrior whirled about, his hideous features somehow seeming to contort into something worse. He pointed at the Heart that Winthrop held and the meaning was clear.
Winthrop avoided another sweep of the mighty weapon, knowing that one blow would be enough to break bones and leave him helpless. He turned and leapt up onto the altar and tensed, knowing that he would only get one chance at reaching the windows. He threw himself up, holding on to the Heart with one hand. The warrior grabbed for him, narrowly missing the bottom of his foot.
Winthrop’s free hand grabbed hold of the opening’s edge and he cried out in pain, holding his entire weight aloft with just four fingers. He twisted and threw the Heart through the window, hoping that it would fall somewhere near Lunt. Then he reached up and grabbed hold with his other hand, pulling himself up and through to freedom. It was a tight squeeze but he managed to do it, even with his muscles screaming.
He looked down, seeing the stone warrior standing there, face turned up to the sky. The warrior let out a bone-rattling growl but the battle was over — the Heart had been stolen.
Sliding down the rough-hewn roof, Winthrop paused at the edge. He saw Lunt watching him, a smile on the man’s scarred face. He was holding The Devil’s Heart in one hand, tossing it up and catching it like a baseball.
“Not bad, Richard,” Lunt said. “I might make something out of you, yet.”
Winthrop threw himself to the ground, landing in the grass with a grunt.
“Encounter any problems in there?” Lunt asked, curiosity shining in his eyes.
Winthrop wasn’t sure why but he wasn’t in the mood to satisfy his friend’s desires at the moment. “Nothing worth mentioning. It was a piece of cake.”
Chapter II
The Evil Dead
Robeson Avenue had become one of the more famous streets in Sovereign City. The transformation from an unassuming, mostly abandoned locale to one where gossip columnists routinely camped out was the direct result of Lazarus Gray choosing it for his home base. In the years since he had awoken on the city’s beachfront, he had slowly built a reputation as a man who could do the impossible.
The business that he had established was equally as well known. Dubbed Assistance Unlimited, this operation existed for the sole purpose of helping those in need. Gray charged nothing upfront for his services, preferring to be paid when the job was complete. He asked only what the client could afford and not a penny more. With the city reeling under the twin terrors of a stagnant economy and rampant corruption, the papers had seized upon Lazarus Gray as a figure of great interest and one capable of inspiring hope.
Gray had purchased all three of the buildings that lay on Robeson Avenue. The heart of his complex was a three-story structure that had once been a hotel. Gray’s three associates used the first floor, while the second had been gutted and converted into one large room that was used for meetings, briefings and research. The third floor was off-limits to everyone but Gray himself.
Across the street were several storefronts, all of which had closed down at the dawn of the Great Depression. Lazarus had purchased these, ensuring that no one would operate any businesses next to his own.
The military-issue vehicle that parked in front of Assistance Unlimited was the only car to be seen. The two men who got out of the car and approached the door cast cautious glances up around them. There was something unnerving about the complete silence that engulfed them. There were no pedestrians on the street and the only lights that illuminated the dusk came from the building whose address label read 6196 Robeson Avenue.
Morgan Watts, a member of Assistance Unlimited, witnessed their arrival. All traffic into and out of the city block owned by Lazarus was monitored and a tiny alarm had sounded the second that the car had turned onto the street.
Morgan was sitting in an office on the first floor and he zoomed in on the men’s faces as they approached the front door. One of them had short-cropped blond hair and appeared to be in his early forties. The other was shorter and a bit stouter, with dark hair and eyes. From the markings on their uniforms, Morgan knew that the blond was a Colonel and the dark-haired man was a Major.
The Colonel stood in front of the door for a moment before ringing the bell. The buzzer had scarcely sounded when he heard Morgan’s voice come through a tiny speaker located over her head.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Um… yes. I’m Colonel Williams and my companion is Major Davis. We want to inquire about hiring your services.”
Morgan heard soft footsteps behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was — the perfume was one that he knew well. It belonged to Samantha Grace, the stunning blonde member of the Assistance Unlimited staff. “I’m going to open the door for you, Colonel. When you enter, you’ll see a small information desk — it looks like any that you’d seen in a hotel. Just wait there and someone will be along to escort you to an office.”