“It imploded,” Knight said.
“Why?” Alexander wondered aloud.
A grinding movement deep within the ruined mountainside answered his question. It stood slowly, as though awakening from an ancient sleep. Standing more than one hundred feet tall, the golem, as featureless as it was immense, stepped out of the crater and turned its flat face toward them. It was a mix of old mountain, hardened pyroclastic flow, and the ruins of Babel.
When it took its first step, its stumplike foot dented the solid stone mountainside.
“It’s super dense,” Alexander said.
“What?” Queen said. “How?”
“The small stars. They were collapsing when I left. I thought they would go supernova, but instead their gravity drew the stone in, compressing it.”
“Ridley did this?” Knight asked.
“One of his duplicates.”
“Where is Ridley?” Queen asked.
“Headless,” Alexander said, then met Queen’s doubt-filled eyes. “He’s inside. Buried.” He turned to Knight. “Forever.”
The mountainside shook as the giant stepped toward them. With its gait covering twenty-five feet, it would only take the golem a moment to reach them.
Knight tried to stand, but the violently shaking earth stumbled him.
Escape was impossible.
Knight tightened his grip on Fiona and felt her move. Not now, he thought, don’t wake up now.
But a sharp crack launched her upright.
She looked up at the source of the sound through squinted eyes. The stealth Blackhawk was circling the giant, peppering it with a stream of bullets from its side-mounted minigun. The barrage glowed like an orange laser beam thanks to the bright tracer rounds. But the thousands of rounds striking the giant did nothing more than scratch its face. The golem swung its arm out, forcing the copter to bank away.
Fiona looked up at Knight and saw his worried eyes looking back at her. She looked to the side and saw Queen on the ground beside Bishop, whose face was twisted in pain. She saw Alexander next and then King, laying on the ground, his eyes closed.
She tried standing up, but Knight stood and held her tight. “I’m taking her. Going for the Blackhawk.”
But Fiona fought against him, thrashing and shouting, “No!” Her voice was raspy, but clear.
She broke free of his grasp and hobbled to King’s side. Her vision faded for a moment as she fell over his body. She pressed herself into him, head on his chest. With her eyes closed she ignored the voice of Knight pleading with her, the boom of the golem’s footsteps, and the chop of the Blackhawk.
And she heard the one thing she needed to hear—King’s heartbeat.
She stood on wobbly legs and turned toward the giant golem. Her dark hair billowed in the wind. The team watched in amazement as this thirteen-year-old girl stepped toward the golem.
The golem turned its head toward her, stomping forward. It would reach her in five more steps.
In a voice as loud as she could muster, Fiona shouted, “Tisioh fesh met!”
The golem reacted immediately.
Its knees buckled and fell apart.
Its arms fell away and crashed to the ground.
And its torso and head fell forward, crashing to the sloped mountainside and sliding to the bottom where their super dense weight buried them into the soft soil of the valley—just fifteen feet from where Fiona stood.
Fiona collapsed, falling on top of King’s chest. She clutched him as she lost consciousness, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and the chop of the approaching Blackhawk.
EIGHTY-FIVE
Barents Sea
COLD AIR WHIPPED against Rook’s face, frosting moisture onto his blond beard. But he remained at the bow of the ship, gloved hands on the rail. They had been at sea for three days and he had endured the presence of the Songbird’s two passengers—and the whimpered cries of their prisoner—long enough. With their voyage to Norway nearly at an end, it was time to act. On his way to the deck, he’d stared down one of the men and then laughed at him. Mocking him.
The man showed no reaction, other than watching Rook leave. But the insult wouldn’t go unanswered. Not by these two. Rook knew he could have simply shot the men. He still had his Desert Eagle. But he wanted the confrontation to look unprovoked. He wasn’t sure how Dashkov would react if Rook killed them outright. But if it was self-defense …
A moment later, Rook heard the cabin door open. Two sets of footsteps walked casually across the deck. The killers were confident. Relaxed.
Rook held up a pack of cigarettes he’d borrowed from Dashkov. “Smoke?”
“Not today,” one of the men said.
Their footsteps grew closer. Too close to shoot. These guys really are old school, Rook thought. He guessed the plan. Stab him in the back. Maybe whisper some parting words. And then shove him overboard. They’d probably done it before.
So when the nearest man paused to aim his strike, Rook spun. The thrust blade passed by his abdomen and beneath his arm. Rook took the attackers forearm, pulled him closer, wrapped his free hand around the man’s neck, and hurled him overboard.
The second man roared with anger and charged. Though he was probably a good fighter in his day, the man was slow and couldn’t match Rook’s reach. Rook’s fist slammed head on into the man’s nose. The man stumbled back, ignoring the gouts of blood pouring from his ruined face, and drew a pistol.
But once again, Rook was too quick. He kicked the weapon from the man’s hand and elbowed him in the chest. The man stumbled back and landed against the rail. Wasting no time, Rook took the man by his feet and flipped him, ass over teakettle, into the freezing arctic waters.
A third set of footsteps approached from behind. Rook turned.
Dashkov flicked his lighter and held it out to Rook.
“I don’t smoke,” Rook said, handing the pack of cigarettes to the man.
Rook could read the man’s questioning glance and pointed to the pack. Dashkov looked at the cigarettes and found a small mirror fragment taped to it. When Rook held the pack up, he’d got a peek at both men.
Dashkov shook his head with a laugh. “What took you so long?”
“You don’t mind?”
“I’m not a bad man, Stanislav.” He smiled. “And they paid up front.”
“And if someone comes looking for them?”
“I’ll tell the truth, that I dropped them off and haven’t seen them since.”
Both men laughed at this.
“I think their plan was to disappear anyway,” Dashkov said. “Along with the girl.”
“How long until we reach our stop?”
“Two hours.”
Rook smiled and headed for the cabin door. “I’ll go cut her loose and give her the good news.”
* * *
ROOK STOOD AT the rail once again, the newly freed woman by his side. She had wavy black hair cut to her shoulders. Her body was feminine and in great shape. Her dark brown eyes shown with intelligence and despite the wounds inflicted to her face, she was still quite striking, not to mention familiar. But he couldn’t place what was familiar about her and didn’t dwell on it.
She had offered a quiet “Thank you” after being freed, but hadn’t said a word since. When she saw land ahead, she turned to Rook and again said, “Thank you.”
“Do you need any help once we land?” Rook asked.
For a moment he thought she wouldn’t reply, but then she spoke. “I’ll be fine.”
She spoke with a confidence that convinced Rook she would be. “Sorry,” he said.
She turned to him, confused. “For what?”