“Xandria? I don’t think so,” Barber replied. “That girl is tough. I once saw her kill a black widow spider just by staring at it.”

“You’re lying,” Wynant chirped from across the room. He was taking pictures of the figures carved into the walls.

“Of course he’s lying, you idiot,” Cornelius said.

Barber smacked the radio again. “C’mon, Xandria! What’s taking you so long?”

There was a burst of static from the device.

“Hello?” Barber said.

Static.

“Can you hear me?”

“. . . won’t believe . . . behind the water . . . I’m opening the doors now.”

Barber turned to the others. “Did she say something about doors?”

Cornelius and Wynant came as quickly as safety allowed to Barber’s side: Xandria had found something.

They waited for what seemed an eternity for her voice to come through again. A moment later they heard her, sounding like she was on some distant planet. “. . . so dark . . . not sure if . . . wait, I see something . . .”

“This is killing me,” Wynant said.

“I’ll be killing you if you don’t shut up!” Barber barked.

“Sh!” Cornelius didn’t have to hush them twice.

The radio fell silent again. Far below their feet they heard a disturbing boom, a distant explosion of unknown fury.

“What was that?” Wynant asked.

Cornelius and Barber tried to act calm, but neither of them succeeded. Something horrible was happening, and they had no power to stop it.

The room shook. Pieces of rock fell from the ceiling and from the walls. A section of the floor fell from its place, crashing loudly.

Xandria’s voice burst through the radio. “. . . terrible . . . everything falling apart . . . I can’t . . . get out now!”

The three men ran for the rope leading back to the tunnel. But it was too late. The room began to cave in, collapsing upon itself like a dead star. They were hopelessly trapped. The last words they heard were from Xandria. She said, quite simply, “. . . so beautiful . . .”

And the world went dark.

Twenty-five

twenty-five

SIX MONTHS LATER
PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC

August walked into the Crowne Plaza Hotel, bought a coffee, sat down at a table, and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. A man cylindrical in build squared himself on the opposing seat, tugging his gray suit into line.

“Before we speak about the Black Queen,” the cylindrical man said, “I want to see the merchandise.”

August smiled and stuck out his hand. “August Adams,” he said. “And I presume you must be James Calendar. So good to finally make your acquaintance.”

Calendar, who couldn’t seem to sit still, bouncing like a small engine in his chair, took August’s outstretched hand and shook it rapidly. “The merchandise?”

“You make it sound so enchanting,” August said. He put his briefcase on the table and opened it. “You’re not going to go running off with this, are you?”