Andy shrugged. “There are mansions with big doors and passages.” He shone his flashlight down the gloomy passageway. “We’re down a long way.”

“We need to keep going,” Abrams said quietly. “This is leading us somewhere, and if Drummond is involved, it might be his home base, so I doubt he’ll be by himself.”

“Adira said we needed to be ready,” Matt added, looking up at the formidable arches overhead. “These structures were built by an advanced race that was here a long time ago.” Matt’s vision turned inwards as he sought the words – but they were already there – they always would be. The verses tumbled from his mouth, whether he wanted them to or not.

“They slumber, a race far older than man’s first word,

In a city more ancient than Lemuria’s first brick.

The sleepers in the dirt, the burrowers below us all.

We who climb down into the depths find not just caverns of wet and slime,

But carved faces beautiful in their hideousness, carrying not one visage of mortal man.

Pathways spiral ever downward to hopelessness and eternal blackness.

There, find mighty columns, towering edifices, and streets too wide for a sapiens’s feet.

A primal city long past anything the tiny human mind could comprehend.”

Abrams exhaled slowly. “Streets too wide for a sapiens’s feet, huh?” he grunted. “Well then, looks like we must be on the right path.” He nodded to Hartogg, who had been silently watching the forward and rear passages. The big SEAL shouldered his weapon and headed off into the dark again.

Abrams put his hand on Matt’s shoulder. “You next, Professor. Andy, you’re my rear guard; okay?”

“No problem,” the young geologist said, looking nervously over his shoulder.

Ever deeper they went, minutes turning into dozens of minutes, into hours, and the passageways turning to tunnels and once again to huge caves. The ancient symbols were always with them, pressed into the stone now and not daubed upon it, but carved so cleanly it looked as if they grew from the very rock surrounding them. Their meaning still tugged at Matt’s mind, needling his brain, mocking him.

At last they came to a split in the tunnel, and Hartogg held up a fist. He turned to Abrams. “Want me to scout em, Boss?”

Abrams shook his head. “Send a pulse.”

Hartogg pulled what looked like a flashlight from a pouch on his thigh and aimed it down the first tunnel. It pinged a few times, and then he read from a small screen on its top. He shook his head. “This one; nothing, no movement, and no blockages. Just goes on until the downward curve makes it drop out of sight of the sonar.” He moved to the next, and did the same. Once again the pings sounded for a moment until he turned to them and shrugged. “Same. We got miles of tunnel and a choice – toss a coin?”

Abrams looked down at the floor of the tunnel mouths, and clicked his tongue. “Ground is too solid for any footprints.” He checked his watch. “No idea which way they went. We don’t have time for dead ends.”