Hope & Fury (Heroes & Demons Book 2)
Chapter 13

He lay on the dirt, the straw maddeningly itchy over the portions of exposed skin. Well, it was either that or the potato sack of material he’d been given to wear, which maddeningly itched every other bit of skin. They were given no underwear, no water to clean and barely enough to wet their lips. He was not physically injured, they’d given that up some time ago, he was simply thrown into a cell and left.

The baking heat of the day turned the cell into an oven, one in which they let the jacket potato bake slowly. He felt moisture sloughing from his skin and his pores began to crack. He felt the pain in his lips from the slight movement as he involuntarily gasped for water which was not there. As the day began to cool outside he continued to snap in the residual heat of the day.

It was then when the door opened. It was then when the scraping sound of metal on stone turned his half-mad attention to the chair being placed several feet away. And it was then when his visitor arrived, a man in startling white. Even his expensive loafers were not remotely covered with the dust, dirt or straw that littered the prison he was in. He was not sweating despite the burning heat, the crisp lines remained in his jacket and his trousers.

The man sat upon the chair and indicated to the guard who had accompanied him. A bottle of water appeared in his hands and even as he felt the crazed gleam begin to appear in his own eyes, the man took a sip. He did not know what to do, how to move. He did not know anything other than his worldly and firm desires lay simply in that small plastic bottle.

“Dr Daniel Jackson,” the man finally spoke, his voice softly lilting in a sing-song manner, “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The man saw Daniel’s eyes move towards the water bottle once more, a smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he took a second rather generous sip.

“I’m sorry it’s taken us this long to meet,” his tone saying he wasn’t very sorry at all, “but you know how it is these days, a busy world and lots to do. I will be brief, mainly because I can’t stand the smell of shit in this place and frankly would like to be anywhere else. We know of you, we know of your work and of the direction it had been taking before this…” He waved his hand around the cell as though it could adequately sum up the hell Daniel had been in for several months – or eternity. “…detour. And we are impressed.”

The man stood, taking another highly unnecessary sip of that bottle and looked down at him from above.

“We would like to offer you a job,” he continued, “Working with myself and some other concerned individuals. If you accept, a team will be here to assist you within the hour and extract you to one of our resting facilities. If you decline, then this shit-stained cell will be all you have to look forward to for quite some time.”

“Perhaps you will be lucky and perhaps you will die quickly, but in this place, I honestly don’t think anything dies quickly. So what is your answer?”

Daniel gasped at him, replaceing it hard to form any words in the sandpit that was his throat. The man rolled his eyes and dropped the bottle of water for him. It spilt almost empty as it crashed to the ground, but he seized it in his shaking hands long enough to bring the cold moistness to his lips. Enough left for a trickle to go down his throat and loosen his voice-box so he could give the only answer fate would allow.

“Yes.”

That was over two years ago, nearly three. His research assistant had been killed at the dig site and he’d seen no sign of his friend and colleague Andrew since they’d been dragged into that place. He could only presume he was dead.

Now it turned out he was not.

They gave themselves no name, nor did he ever feel confident to ask. Two weeks at the ‘resting facility’ which remained somewhere in the barren desert and then he was back in mainstream society.

He was allowed to work, that much was clear. He had returned home, triumphant and to the complete bafflement of the foreign office. He had answered no questions about the man in white, instead spun a tale of having been released by the prison officers into the wilderness – as if to die. They had believed him too quickly for his liking until he began to wonder if perhaps the right palms had been greased at the right levels. There was nothing about his return to the UK in the papers or on media.

The University restored his position and he was thrown a small but heartfelt reception by his colleagues. He’d returned to his office, continued his study and began to wonder if the man in white had been a hallucination. Perhaps he had been for he never saw him again. What did begin to arrive, mysteriously appearing asynchronous to the daily post, were large but flat envelopes. Each filled with information, ‘suggesting’ paths which his research should take. Sometimes there was additional information, proposing particular tomes to focus on or the works of particular authors; he would make copious notes, unsure why he was doing it.

Those notes would disappear. Always when he was not there, they would disappear. Not lost in the piles on his desk, they would vanish from existence. And more large envelopes would take their place.

It took him a year to figure out what direction ultimately he was being taken in. It was clear from Plato, from the remarkably Grecian theme to everything he was looking at. Before too long he realised everything came down to one common denominator – a silly myth. A lost city.

He stopped. Six months ago he stopped there would be no more research, there would be no more silly notes. He had expected the letters to continue, to push him or make warnings – he sensed the implied threat in them quite often. What he hadn’t counted on was the visit.

The man, this time in black. The man whose face he couldn’t quite remember, except for the grin. He’d been sitting in his chair when Daniel had returned from lunch.

“Hello Daniel,” the voice came from the man, slick like oil. “Very pleased to finally meet you, after all the good work you’ve done for us.”

“Who are you?” he’d asked, swallowing thickly to move the sudden feeling of fullness in his throat.

“One of the forces behind your letters, Daniel,” the man answered, “One of the people interested in your work – and with a vested interest in ensuring it continues. You seem to have, how shall we say, taken a break?”

“I’m not doing it anymore,” Daniel had snapped, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline, “I am a serious academic and I will not be used as entertainment chasing a fantasy of some fool with more money than sense. This is ridiculous.”

“What is ridiculous to you?” the man had asked, sounding genuinely curious,

“Lost Libraries? Atlantis?” he threw back at him, “These are fairy tales that don’t exist. If something doesn’t exist why would I waste my time and yours by looking for it?”

“You’re very right, doctor,” the man had replied, standing now for the first time. Fear dropped itself coldly into the pit of Daniel’s stomach as he did so. “Why would you waste your time if something didn’t exist?” As he’d spoken the man had removed his large overcoat.

What Daniel saw in his office that day, when he had recovered, finally allowed him to believe and so his research had continued.

He had remained doing so, falling back into the pattern of appearing envelopes and disappearing notes until the previous evening. He’d been working from home from his private study under the direction from the notes. The university was okay with it, it wasn’t an uncommon practice for a person needing a work-life balance.

The man who had entered his study at approximately nine o’clock was as different from the other two as night was from day. He was tall, muscular, dressed in an unusual set of clothes that looked like a thick wetsuit. He’d entered into the room with barely a sound – Daniel had looked up only to see him already standing there, hands clasped behind his back, his look that of calm neutrality. Daniel, however, had started like a frightened child.

“Who are you?”

“Dr Daniel Jackson?” the man had asked, to which he had mutely nodded, “Our mutual friends have asked me to collect you. You must come with me immediately.”

“Right now?” Daniel had asked, feeling a little childish even as he did, the indignation bubbling up inside of him dangerously, “I can’t go right now, I have work to do and…”

The man gave his only indication of discomfort in a sudden aggrieved sigh. He stepped forward, bringing his un-gloved hands from around his back and traced a finger along the curved golden trim to his private mahogany bookcase.

“Dr Jackson, before you bleat any further, may I inform you that the people we both work for have given me full authority to ensure your co-operation.”

Daniel’s eye line traced down to the curved trim and he was startled once more when he saw the bubbling formations where it had been touched. It dissolved, liquefied where it had been handled. He suddenly understood, despite having no basis for understanding, that he’d gotten into far worse a situation than he could have ever possibly imagined. All he could do was once again nod.

The remainder of that night was a blur as he was whisked from place to place. First, the Humvee outside his home, the engine running and a muted driver taking them to a private airfield. The private plane, again surrounded by people he didn’t know, had never met before in his life and who seemed completely disinterested in him and equally unperturbed by his presence.

By the time dawn’s light began to creep into the world, they’d arrived at somewhere Mediterranean. He’d been whisked to a port, placed onto a vessel that looked far larger than it needed to be and instructed to change into his wetsuit. If he’d even thought about disobeying or hesitating, witnessing the man from his home study burning the imprint of his hand into the face of one of his men for tardiness dispelled the notions before they could even arise.

He was in deep, he was in with people who did not give a toss about him or anything other than their mission. They were well funded, military by the looks of it – but certainly not one tied to a nation given the complete lack of markings on the vessel they were on. Or were they somehow covert ops? He had initially scoffed at the thought, he’d only seen Black Ops on television and video games, it was a ridiculous Andy-McNab-style pulp fiction notion.

He went back into survival mode, focusing only on what was in front of him. That way he could ignore the sounds of gunshots coming from the vessel they met out in the ocean, he could calmly compartmentalise that away and get into the submersible like he’d been told. He could ignore the dark looks of the man from his home study, the leader of this portion of whatever operation he’d been drawn into; as they submerged into the depths. It was all just what was in front of him.

When they’d emerged into the palace that he’d seen before him, it was the only time he allowed himself to see more. The man dropped supplies near their entrance and ordered him further into the cavern.

“Oh my God,” he allowed himself to whisper, “it’s all real.”

“You bet it is,” the man snarled at him. “Now – where is the key?”

He looked at him blankly for a moment. His most recent ‘directed research’ was regarding the key – an artefact which it was rumoured would reveal the location they wanted – the location of Atlantis. He’d put so much effort into replaceing what form it might take, he hadn’t even thought about replaceing where it might be.

Given the literal treasure trove around them, it could be just about anywhere.

“It’ll be somewhere important,” he fumbled, “Perhaps somewhere towards the back where it would be more protected? The way it was talked about in the texts, it might just be the most important thing Alexander ever collected.”

The look of venom was once again shot his way so he scrambled forward, further into the collections. He once more tried to turn to tunnel vision and ignore the wonders he was seeing around him. By the time he reached the centre he realised it was not to be seen, so made his way to a mural at the back.

It stretched from floor to ceiling – and depicted the giant pyramid said to be at the core of the lost isle. A lone figure in the middle stood holding a ball, bright light beams shining from it across the stone mural. It had to be it – it had to be depicting the key.

“Well?” his companion, who he now was becoming more and more rapidly convinced was his captor, glared at him. “Where is it?”

“It’s got to be here,” Daniel assured him, “I mean, this wall carving even shows it – we’re just going to have to look for it. It will be here.”

“And if it’s not here, ain’t that a kick in the teeth?” the man snarled at him. His hand lashed out and clipped his ear like a mother’s touch. There was a split second and then he realised what he’d done, the scorching spreading through the top of his ear. He screamed, unable to help himself feeling as though the delicate membrane of his ear was burning off.

They were both suddenly distracted by movement behind them, the sensation of melting disappearing from his ear as swiftly as it had come. The man’s concentration swung to their intruder – a man he recognised and wished he didn’t. He was joined quite quickly by a second man he didn’t recognise, one who held a shotgun in his hands and snapped at him,

“Andrew, what are you doing?”

“I’m saying hello to an old friend,” Andrew replied, his gaze directly on him. “Isn’t that right, Daniel?”

His heart skipped ten beats, confused by the disorienting moment he was trapped in. His former friend and colleague, emerged from the dead to return involved in this madness in which he found himself.

“What are you doing here, Andrew?” he asked him suddenly, completely forgetting the man by his side.

“I could ask the same thing of you,” his old friend replied, “Daniel, what the hell are you doing?”

“Did you honestly think the New Order wouldn’t have their own archaeologists?” the bearded one with the shotgun asked.

“New Order?” he couldn’t help but ask. It wasn’t a term he’d heard and it was the first time he’d ever come across even a potential name for the people he was working for. It sounded sinister and yet somehow correct.

“Do you even know what you’re caught up in?” Andrew asked him, his gaze still focused only on him. “These people are dangerous. This man you are with, ex-Special Forces. As far as we can tell he’s now a mercenary for the New Order, some very, very bad people.”

“Well, it’s all a matter of perspective,” his companion hissed.

“Oh my God, you’re right!” the bearded man suddenly seemed to have a revelation, though his tone sounded more like he’d remembered which celebrity it was who won Big Brother rather than remembering some mercenary. “Yeah, I remember seeing him on the surveillance photos. What was his call sign again? Prius? Kawasaki?”

“Lotus,” his companion supplied. A name at last, though it didn’t make Daniel feel any better. If anything he felt even more like a pawn in someone else’s game. And pawns were always the first ones to be sacrificed.

“Knew it was something douchey,” the man agreed, “so, as lovely as this little reunion is – by the way, Andrew, totally get why you hate code names now they do sound stupid – can we get on with the show?”

Andrew, ignoring their little aside simply looked Daniel in the eye and told him, with all the compassion it seemed he could muster, “Daniel, if you get a chance – you run.”

He didn’t understand what was going on, couldn’t even hope to understand it – but even he felt the sudden intake of breath. The calm pause before chaos erupted.

The rifle barrel in the bearded man’s hands began to dissolve, the metal flaking and sizzling. The man threw it forward at ‘Lotus’, who was already on the move, dodging and delivering a blow to the man’s face that seemed to scorch red his cheek. He went down, while Andrew seemed to disappear – genuinely disappear, into a puff of smoke. He reappeared behind Lotus who seemed to be prepared for it.

They tussled, his old friend letting out an almighty yell of pain and anger when the man drove his fist into his shoulder. Daniel knew that pain, it still throbbed at the back of his ear. He knew what Andrew meant when he told him to run. He knew why and suddenly felt the guilt well up in him.

He turned and he ran back the way they’d came, ignoring everything around him still. His companion, Lotus, caught up to him only seconds after he reached the pool through which they’d entered. He grabbed him by the arm, this time the full fury of his power seeping through his fingers and allowing his hand to clench in a way it shouldn’t have been able to do. But it could because he could feel the liquid of his flesh began to dribble down his arm. Pain, like nothing he’d ever felt before in his life, bolted through his entire body and he collapsed to the ground.

The man was gone but the remnant he left behind scattered daintily across the smooth volcanic rock ground nearby. A small green object he’d only ever seen in movies. The world exploded in a sea of fire and rock, the ceiling came down and mercifully it was over.