“The gate is activated at Point Zero in Paris. I simply coated the stones with an alchemical concoction made from ground-up mammoth bones-bones from the Pleistocene Epoch-and added a simple Attraction spell to the mix.”

The light changed to red and Billy brought the car to a stop. Tugging on the hand brake, he swiveled in his seat to look at the Italian with something like awe. “So whoever used the leygate…”

“… was pulled back in time to the Pleistocene Epoch.”

“Which was when?” Billy asked. “I never did get much schooling.”

“Anywhere between one point eight million and maybe eleven thousand five hundred years ago.” Machiavelli smiled.

“Oh, you’re good.” Billy shook his head. “So, do you have any idea who activated the gate?”

“A security camera has been trained on the spot for the past twenty-four hours.” Machiavelli held up his phone. It showed an image of two women standing back to back in the middle of a rock-strewn square. “I’ve no idea who the smaller woman is,” Machiavelli said, “but the one to the left is Scathach.”

“The Shadow?” Billy whispered, leaning forward to look at the screen. “That’s the Warrior Maid?” He looked unimpressed. “I thought she’d be taller.”

“Everyone does,” Machiavelli said. “That’s usually their first mistake.”

Car horns blared behind the Thunderbird as the lights changed, and someone shouted.

Machiavelli glanced at the American immortal curiously, wondering how he’d react. But Billy the Kid had tamed his famous temper decades ago. He raised his hand and waved an apology in the air, then took off.

“So with the Shadow out of the picture, I take it that our job is much easier.”

“Infinitely,” Machiavelli agreed. “I had a vague suspicion that she’d somehow turn up on Alcatraz and spoil the party.”

“Well, that ain’t going to happen now.” Billy grinned, then got serious. “Under your seat you’ll find an envelope. It contains a printout of an e-mail I received from Enoch Enterprises sometime yesterday afternoon, giving us permission to land on Alcatraz. Dee’s company currently owns the island. You’ll also find a photograph that came attached to an anonymous e-mail that arrived this morning. I’m guessing it’s for you. Means nothing to me.”

Machiavelli shook out the two pages. On Enoch Enterprises letterhead was a long legal-looking document giving the bearer permission to land on the island and carry out “historical research.” It was signed John Dee, PhD. The second sheet was a high-resolution color photo of the images on the wall of an Egyptian pyramid.

“Do you know what it means?” Billy asked.