The door swung open revealing the darkness of night beyond. The warm air outside carried the smells of the city, but the streetlights ringing the acres of land did little to light the ruins. With the moon covered by clouds, Pierce’s flashlight shone like a beacon. It would make them easy to spot, but Pierce didn’t seem to notice as he took out a second flashlight, clicked it on, and handed it to King. He didn’t like being exposed, but had little choice. Time, as usual, was not on his side, and a daylight search in the midst of tourist throngs would draw unwanted attention.

As he stepped out into the ruins and moved his flashlight side to side he realized what an impossible task this could be. The ancient site included several temples, basilicas, and atriums, some built on top of one another, forming layers of history. On the far side of the space was the Coliseum, which was brightly lit in the distance. That seemed as fitting a place as any for Hercules and his wraiths to hide out, but impossible to search in solitude. King sighed, not knowing where to begin.

Pierce clapped him on the shoulder. “Have no fear, George is here. This way. I have an idea.”

King followed Pierce into the ruins, descending a path of large flat stones spaced out just enough for tufts of grass to grow—the remains of an ancient roadway. The path was fenced in on both sides by short black metal fences that seemed more like a reminder to stay off the ruins than an actual deterrent. During the day the site might inspire awe, at night King felt the ruins looked more like some eerie underworld that housed creatures of the night. The truth, he knew, might not be far from that. But despite what he thought might be waiting for them under the earth, it was their exposure to onlookers that had him on edge. He couldn’t help but feel they were being watched. There was no evidence of it. Just his instincts.

Instincts he had come to rely on.

He drew his Sig Sauer pistol and held it in line with his flashlight. It wasn’t always effective against regenerating capybara, Hydras, Neanderthals, or giant rock monsters, but it almost always gave him a head start, and that could save his life, and Pierce’s.

Chapter Twenty-Three

TWENTY-TWO

Washington, D.C.

PRESIDENT DUNCAN SAT in the backseat of The Beast, a black stretched Cadillac with five-inch-thick military armor, run-flat tires, and bulletproof glass. The car could protect him from almost any enemy, except one: the press.