“You’re mad!” Sam said, moving toward him.
Goddard withdrew a handgun and aimed it directly at Sam. “I’m afraid this isn’t going to play out well for you, Mr. Reilly.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You had a gun hidden at the Xagħra Megalithic temple! I knew you had retrieved something!”
Goddard spread his hands. “Guilty as charged. I was worried you might need some persuading. Now stand over there.”
Sam raised his hands in supplication. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I don’t intend to.”
With his right hand holding the handgun on Sam and Larson, Goddard reached for the vial in his left hand, lifting it up to his lips.
Sam dived toward him.
The obsidian chamber was filled with the echoes of gunfire.
Sam hit the ground hard. Opposite him, Andrew Goddard lay still with three bullet wounds to his chest, which no longer rose or fell with breathing.
The vial was empty.
At the entrance to the chamber stood the man who had attacked them in Venice. The same man who had tried to kill Sandi Larson back at the disused gold mine in the Monarch Mountains of Colorado.
He held a silenced Glock at Sam and Larson. “You’d better head up those stairs unless you want to join your friend.”
Sam asked, “Why?”
The stranger said, “A bomb’s about to explode in a little less than ten minutes.”
Sam looked at the suitcase. “You’re from the Defense Department! Someone knew the truth, didn’t they? That’s why someone at the Pentagon authorized the Phoenix Sanction.”
“We needed to be certain we had the right person.”
“What are you, CIA? FBI?”
“I’m a ghost. And I was never here.” His eyes locked with Sam’s. “I suggest the two of you weren’t either.”
Sam said, “How do I know that you’re not going to steal the vials of another species? How do I know you’re Homo sapiens?”
“You don’t. But I have the gun and the bomb.” The man placed the suitcase next to the pedestal. “And I’m leaving now whether you come with me or not.”
Sam nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”
All three of them raced toward the surface.
Back outside the Basilica of the Assumption of our Lady they mingled into the crowd. Below them, they felt the faint rumble of a large explosion.
Beside them, a woman said, “I think we just had a small earthquake.”
Sam agreed. “It felt like it, didn’t it?”
He turned to thank the ghost for saving their lives, but already the man had disappeared into the crowd.
Sandi looked vacantly toward the horizon, her mind far away. “Now what?”
Sam said, “I know a great beach near here that serves wonderful cocktails. Care to join me?”
Epilogue
Three weeks later, Sam and Tom returned to the 8th Continent.
It was submerged in the South Pacific, a few hundred miles east of New Zealand, but once formed part of Australia. The entire place looked like it belonged in a Jules Verne novel. To access it, they needed to navigate a submersible into a large underground grotto. It used to be a volcanic atoll, but in the past fifty years had sunk to a depth of eighty feet. The entire beach, protected by a strange obsidian dome, remained filled with air.
Sam walked passed the well preserved remains of Amelia Earhart’s Electra.
They descended the thousand plus stairs that led to the underground world.
Once there, the ceiling in the vault was so high that it could only be seen at the edges of the wall and not in the middle. A warm ray of sun shone down from above on the entire subterranean habitat, making him feel like he’d just stepped out into the great expanse of an ancient savannah. Giant trees and shrubs were covered with fruits he had never seen before, filling his nostrils with rich fragrances.
His eyes swept the near-mythical environment with wonder. It was impossible to tell where the place began and where it finished. It might have been a small country in its own right. Thick rainforests, including giant gum trees, more than a hundred feet tall, filled the area. There were massive open plains of grass, a freshwater river that split the ancient world in two, with multiple smaller tributaries and streams that ran off from it.
An 80-foot waterfall raged somewhere to the east, sending a fine mist down upon the valley. The sound of birds chirping echoed throughout. Ancient megafauna, oversized mammals, drank by the bank of the river.
Sam and Tom headed into the jungle, toward a clearing near the river some three miles away. The sun was setting and they spotted a single light coming from a nearby cottage. It seemed rudimentary, more of the sort of place where Robinson Crusoe might have lived. A single-roomed log hut, with a waterwheel fed by the nearby stream, and a garden of remarkable flowers.
A woman was whistling a gentle tune inside.
Sam glanced at Tom, who shrugged.
He knocked on the door.
A woman opened it.
She was roughly 5 feet 8 inches, with a lanky build and proportionate features. Her blonde hair, which was cut short, blew in the light breeze. She wore an impish smile, revealing a nice set of even white teeth, with a distinctive gap in the middle of her upper front incisors.
Sam took in a deep breath. “Amelia Earhart?”
The woman laughed. It was the sort of laugh Sam could get used to hearing. Full of joy and filled with life.
“No. She was my grandmother.”