Blake and the Revenge of the One Handed Man

Croyd Layton looked out his plane's window. He had been working for the Diana Foundation since his release from Stonedyke Prison. He had moved to Boston to get away from his old life.

The job entailed a lot of checking into stuff. Croyd didn't mind that. It took him everywhere and kept him busy enough that he had little time to dwell on the things he had done.

Madeline Oak sat in the chair beside him. Volumes of reports had been sent to the Boston office. She had them spread on her lap, analyzing the language in her careful way.

Mike Zane was the man on the spot in London. He had sent his available people to look into his problem. Then he had gone himself.

A violation of policy according to Jerry Adama.

So Croyd and Madeline had packed bags and headed across the big pond to see what was going on.

Croyd saw sparks form on the wing of the plane. He frowned as the wing began to shake under the dancing motes. He shoved Madeline to the floor, as he ducked down. The metal rippled like an ocean wave. The fragments flew into the cabin, smashing the window and cabin wall apart.

Croyd heard screaming in his ear before something hit him on the forehead in a shower of lights.

Everything went black.

Adam Blake sat at his strange television. A typewriter keyboard rested under the screen. A small white box on a cord rested on a foam pad to one side. Metallic green eyes scanned the sheets of paper he had gotten from the police department. He looked at the lit screen, nodding at the picture he had created.

He heard the phone ring in the entry hall. He listened as Paul Twitchell's nervous steps went to the phone and picked it up. He listened to Twitch's half of the conversation, before his aide came to the door of his lab.

"There is a Jerry Adama calling from Boston," Twitch said, peering around the door frame's corner. "You want me to brush him off?"

"No, Mr. Twitchell," said Blake. "I will talk to him."

Blake's hand picked up the flat extension he kept in his lab.

"This is Blake," he said, then listened to the problem Adama was calling about. "My associates and I will look into it, Mr. Adama."

"Look into what?," asked Twitch.

Twitch was nerves personified, giving the impression he would run from his own shadow. He was constantly on the move even when standing still.

"We are going to England," said Blake. "The Diana Foundation has had some unexpected problems and their coordinator in Boston has not anyone else he can spare at the moment."

"You know Cap is busy with this marriage thing," said Twitch, seizing a chance at not flying.

"I know," said Blake, shutting off his television. "That is why I will pilot the plane when we leave the city."

"Okay," said Twitch. "Wait a minute. You never said you could pilot a plane."

Blake left a message on the recorder hooked up to the phone before he and Twitch left for Church Hill Airport. He drove one of the automobiles he had bought and worked on when he had first started his agency.

"We will talk to Adama in Boston first," said Blake, driving smoothly through traffic. "Then Zane. Then we will look at the problem area."

"What about the others?," Twitch asked.

"Mr. Morrigan is the only one at loose ends besides yourself as far as I know," Blake said. "We will ask Adama to check on Mr. Tann."

Twitch settled in his seat as much as he could. That was the bad thing about working with a guy like Adam Blake. He didn't talk unless he needed to, didn't guess without evidence, and drove like he was at a speedway even when he was not in a hurry. Twitch closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the ride to the airport.

It might be the last ride of his life.

The black car rolled smoothly around the Church Hill terminal to the private hangar Blake maintained. The mystery man pulled to a stop inside the hangar next to a small plane parked in a maintenance bay.

"I don't remember you saying anything about this," said Twitch, hopping out of the car. "I think I would remember something like 'I have a private plane at Church Hill Airport'."

"It has never come up," said Blake.

"Sometimes you play at this mysterious stuff a little too much," Twitch said.

"What would you like to know?," said Blake, walking around the plane, checking it before he used it.

"Where are you from for starters?," said Twitch, watching the man's mechanical movements.

"I am from the future," Blake said.

"If you don't want to tell me," said Twitch. "You could just say so."

Blake smiled slightly as he hooked up hoses for refueling the plane.

Croyd Layton woke to a blinding headache. His wrists were chained to a stone wall. His shoulders complained to tell him he had been hanging a while. He looked around the room cautiously.

He was in a dudgeon that reminded him of his cell back at Stonedyke. Madeline Oak was chained across the room. Some people Croyd didn't recognize were also imprisoned in the small room.

The first priority was to get everyone out of this place as soon as possible. Then he would work on figuring out what was going on.

Better yet he would get the local cops involved in this.

Footsteps echoed hollowly down the hall. They paused with a rattling of chains. The wooden door creaked open. A stout man that resembled a bulldog stepped into the room. One of his hands was missing, the wrist cauterized by some terrific heat.

"Mr. Layton," Joshua McCabe said, smiling widely. "I see we meet again."

"How did you get out of prison?," Layton asked.

"There is not a prison built that can hold me," McCabe said, a grin stretching across his face unpleasantly. "Especially not a prison in Australia."

"What are you doing here?," Croyd asked.

"It's funny that you should ask," said McCabe. "I'm looking for another lost artifact. The personnel from the Diana Foundation are helping me in my quest."

"I'll bet," said Croyd. "What now?"

"I guess you can help me in my search now that you are here," said McCabe. "Good luck has been following me since I got out of jail, and I am sure it will continue."

Croyd wondered if McCabe had waited for him to cross the Atlantic to investigate what had happened to the staff in London.

"You seem to have enough of an offensive ability with that thing that snagged the airplane," said Croyd.

"I picked it from the property room in Cutter Bay," McCabe said. "Alan Arthur won't mind, I am sure."

Layton drifted back in time as McCabe waved two of his flunkies to unlock his manacles. Maybe he should have aimed higher the last time they had met.

McCabe had blown up the wall of Layton's cell, and snatched him from the prison. They had put him on a plane to Australia. Then they made him search a buried thing under the desert while holding hostages, including a woman Croyd had loved when he was younger. While the former One Shot was busy down under, a man named Lefty Burkowitz had been appointed to keep the police busy by terrorizing Church Hill.

That was supposed to keep everyone thinking Layton had gone back to opposing his rival, Nightmare.

Adam Blake, an investigator hired by the Warden, had traced Layton to Australia, and freed the hostages as well as confronting McCabe after he had gotten a jewel from the ruin. The jewel absorbed sunlight and changed it to a beam of energy. Layton had fired a ray from a pistol he had found into the jewel causing it to burn off the bulldog's hand.

McCabe had been sentenced to jail, while Layton had been returned to Church Hill to serve his own sentence. A pardon came through for Croyd weeks later.

Layton had got the job with the Foundation thanks to a letter of recommendation from Blake.

The flunkies locked Layton's hands behind his back. He didn't put up a struggle. He didn't want anything to happen to his coworkers.

McCabe didn't bluff as far as killing someone goes.

"Now," said McCabe. "Shall we discuss what you can do to get your friends out of here in one piece?"

"Let's do that," said Layton, falling in step between his two warders. "Then we can talk about which body part you are going to lose next, fat man."

"I doubt you will be able to do that if you want to see your coworkers in the morning," said McCabe, laughing at the threat. "When we finish our business, all of you will be allowed to go free."

I believe that, thought Croyd.

They led Layton through a maze of halls which terminated in a central chamber. Documents littered a rough, stone table. A partial drawing of a map rested on top.

Adam Blake coasted his plane to a gentle stop at Boston's Logan Airport after an hour in the air. He rented a hangar to park the plane in until he had interviewed Jerry Adama. He would handle the refueling later.

"What do you think is going on, Chief?," asked Twitch. "A lot of missing people sounds bad to me."

"I think someone targeted the Foundation's personnel," said the investigator. "I could be wrong so we are going to check the assumption with Adama. Depending on what he can tell us, we might have a motive for the targeting."

"This isn't dangerous, is it?," said Twitch, shaking slightly.

"We will see," said Blake, metallic green eyes swirling slightly.

The two men walked across the terminal, and hailed a cab. The man in black gave the driver the address for the Foundation's Boston branch, and settled back in his seat.

The cab paused at the steps of a large house. A campus sat across from the building, but Twitch couldn't name it. Blake went to the door, knocking on it quietly. A man opened it, smiling when he saw the two men.

"Adama," said the greeter, gesturing them into the house.

"Blake and Twitchell," said the investigator quietly as he crossed the threshold.

"Let's go to my office," Adama said. "My assistant is in the library going over what we know of the region. As soon as we talk, we can go over things with him."

"Agreed," said Blake, following the other man in his mechanical way.

"This is the situation as we now know it," said Adama. "We have lost eight people from the London branch including their director. We lost Layton and Oak from our branch yesterday. Their plane went down as it crossed over the coast line."

"Croyd Layton?," asked Blake.

"Yes, I understand you know him," said Adama.

"We have met," said Blake.

"Witnesses reported some type of beam hitting the plane," said Adama. "Then it crashed. The local authorities hadn't found any of it."

"No wreckage at all?," asked Blake, glancing about suddenly, breaking eye contact for the first time since he entered the room.

"None," confirmed Adama.

"Mr. Twitchell and I will look this over as soon as we get there," said Blake, standing. "Could you ask for the whereabouts of an Alex Tann. He works for your institution in Australia. I would like to meet him in England if he can be spared."

"Let's talk to Red," said Adama, standing also. "Maybe he will have a place for you to start."

"Why don't some of you guys go?," Twitch asked. "It is your problem."

"Only Red and I are left in the city," said Adama. "Things are going on that we can't stop what we are doing and look into what is going on in England at the same time."

"I got it," said Twitch. "I guess."

"No need for explanations, Mr. Adama," said Blake.

The three men went into a large room down the hall. Books lined every wall from floor to ceiling. A young man with sandy hair sat at one of the tables going over maps of Britain.

"This is Red Barton," said Adams. "Red, this is Mr. Blake and Mr. Twitchell. Have you found anything useful?"

"I am afraid not," said Barton. "There isn't anything in any of our records as far as I have been able to determine."

Twitch walked around the library, opening books at random as the others looked over Barton's maps. Something was wrong with the man in his opinion. That feeling kept him moving around the room on watch.

"As far as I have been able to determine, there is absolutely nothing where the plane went down," Barton said. "No ruins, no stories, no legends, no recent occurrences until our people disappeared."

"Do you mind if I look at the map?," Blake asked.

"Be my guest," Barton said, standing up.

Blake slid into his seat, one hand on the map to hold it in place. The other hand's slim fingers went over the margin notes Barton had written. Metallic green eyes glared at the paper.

Twitch picked up a book titled in Latin, flipping through it with his thumb.

"Do you mind?," Barton asked. "That book is an antique."

"Sorry," said Twitch, putting the book back on the shelf. "Who would have thought?"

"Thank you," said Barton.

Blake nodded, standing up.

"Thank you both for your time and trouble," he said, placidly. "I will get back to you as soon as I have something to report."

"Thank you for your help," said Adama. "If there is anything else, don't hesitate to ask."

"If you can have Mr. Tann meet us at the Tower Hotel in London," said Blake. "That should be all that I need."

"I'll call his branch and see what I can do," said Adama.

"Thank you," said Blake, leading the way to the front door. "Be seeing you."

Adam Blake stepped out of the house, Twitch Twitchell on his heels. They walked down the sidewalk to where there cab waited patiently.

"Driver, circle the block," Blake said as Twitch got in the back seat.

He vanished before either of the other men could ask any questions.

"You heard the man," said Twitch. "Circle the block."

The cab slowly pulled away from the curb. By the time it had gotten to the corner, Blake had sprinted to the side of the house. He searched until he found the room he wanted and listened with his ear to the glass. He nodded to himself. He caught up with the cab, and waved it down. He pulled the back door open, and slid inside.

"What was that all about?," Twitch asked.

"I will tell you later," said Blake. "Something needed to be checked before we left the city."

"You're the chief, Chief," said Twitch.

Blake watched the outside world silently. He didn't know who had started this, but he was sure of one thing. Mr. Barton had not told them the whole truth about the target area.

One particular ruin sat in that area, and had been gone over repeatedly without verification of what everyone thought. It hadn't been marked on Mr. Barton's map, or mentioned in his notes.

That also explained how the interested party knew which plane to capture.

Barton had told the ambusher.

Just as he had called and informed the man that Blake and Twitchell were on the way to England and which hotel they would meet Mr. Tann.

That was one mystery easily solved.

Now he had to figure out what the rest of it was, and why Mr. Layton had been wanted overseas.

Croyd Layton sat at the table, going over the mass of papers assembled by McCabe. He was missing several key pieces to the puzzle. The one that stood out was where he needed to start. He had a lot of general notes, some mentioning the room he sat in, but not where he should start looking to find what McCabe wanted. And he knew McCabe didn't know because he would have already started looking for it.

The Diana Foundation staff would have been killed instead of captured.

There was no doubt about that.

"I'm glad to see you are hard at work," said McCabe, coming into the room. "Keep at it. I'm going to be gone for a little time and I will want a positive report when I get back."

"Is there any more than this?," Layton asked, gesturing at the papers in front of him.

"Not that I know of," said McCabe. "I'm sure you will come up with something."

"Could I have some help?," asked Layton.

"I'll give you Zane," said McCabe. "You have until I get back to produce some kind of results."

"You're very generous," said Croyd.

McCabe gave instructions to one of his men before leaving the chamber. The man left quietly. Minutes later, Mike Zane was led into the room, manacles rattling as he moved.

"Layton?," the battered Zane asked.

"Yep," said Croyd, passing over half the drawings. "We need to find out where this so-called treasure is before the big man gets mad and does something we'll regret."

"Let's see what we have," Zane said, thumbing through the papers slowly.

Adam Blake and Twitch Twitchell arrived at Heathrow a few hours later. The mystery man's plane was ahead of its time, flying faster and further than any other comparable vehicle of the Eisenhower era. He landed and rented a small hangar before grabbing two silver cases from the cargo bay and flipping them open.

Blake pulled out a black box, plugging an earpiece into its top. He pressed a button, listening to a dial tone.

"Take this and clip it on your belt," Blake said. "When you want to use it, place this part over your ear, and hit this button."

"Got it," said Twitch. "What is it?"

"A telephone," said Blake.

"You've got to be kidding me," Twitch said.

"I want you to check us in at the Tower Hotel," said Blake, doffing his tie, jacket, and shirt. He pulled on a vest and slapped the closures shut on it. "Get the highest rooms you can, preferably away from the street. When Mr. Tann arrives, I want you to meet him in the lobby and go up to the room. Stay away from the windows."

"Got it, Chief," said Twitch. "How long should we wait, if nothing happens?"

"I will call," said Blake, pulling his shirt and jacket back on. He mechanically tied his tie in a neat knot. He pulled a similar box from a case and placed it on his own belt. "Keep your eyes open. The enemy may not wait for my appearance, or for Mr. Tann."

"I hate when you say stuff like that," Twitch said, making sure the portable phone was in place.

"If anything happens before I call you," Blake said. "Press the red button. That will help me track you down."

"That's good," said Twitch. "I guess."

"I think that will do for now," said Blake. "Let us get on with the deed."

The two men walked out of the hangar, locking it behind them. They separated. Blake walked toward the perimeter fence with the two heavy cases in his hands. Twitch walked toward the terminal, hands in his pockets.

Joshua McCabe sat in an office across the street from the Tower Hotel. Thanks to the warning from Red Barton, he had arrived with plenty of time to set up the device he had liberated from Cutter Bay's police department. Its barrel pointed directly at the square, brick building.

The Tower had escaped numerous bombing runs during the war. Some said it was the luckiest building in the city.

McCabe tapped his stump against the window sill in time with music only he could hear. A small smile was sparked by the thought of dropping a building on top of that meddling Blake.

Their last encounter had cost him a hand.

McCabe was determined to even the score.

He spotted one of his prey enter the lobby in a plain brown suit, shaking more than a leaf in a high wind. The others called this one Twitch for obvious reasons.

The phone rang in a code to let him know one of his men was on the other end. He picked up eagerly. He listened, smiling broadly at the information his agent had picked up. Twitch had taken a room on the top floor. The number put it in the corner away from the street. McCabe adjusted the beam weapon accordingly.

Now all he had to was wait for Blake to show up. Then the trap would spring shut on the city's luckiest building and wipe those two off the map.

He would return to see what progress Layton and Zane had made in their search. Then they would also be disposed of like Blake.

Adam Blake changed clothes after separating from Twitch Twitchell at Heathrow. He had changed his black suit for black fatigues. The gold disc with the winged hourglass sat on his collar. A black beret rode in a shoulder epaulet.

Blake stood on a roof across from the Tower Hotel. He held a black box in his hand. He inserted a green card in a slot on the side of the box. A small screen lit up, displaying a series of dots and lines. He nodded at the reading and placed the two components in their pouches.

He looked in the direction indicated by the sensor. A building on the other side of the hotel was giving out enough energy to light up the city. A careful search with his eyes revealed a long rod projecting out of a dark room about halfway down from the roof.

Blake waited silently for Tann to arrive at the Tower. He would start his countermeasure so that he could follow the sniper back to wherever the Diana Foundation personnel was being kept. Otherwise he would have to search the area where Layton's plane went missing for some clue that might have been missed.

Twitch appeared in a window in the corner of the hotel. Blake noted it for use. He hoped the shaky informant's luck would carry him through being a judas goat in the next few hours. One critical error was all it took for somebody to wind up dead.

Alex Tann arrived at the Tower just before dawn. He checked with the clerk and got the room number instead of waiting for Twitch. He took the stairs, thinking that the elevator could be a death trap.

Tann typically worked as a security element for Foundation expeditions. He had met Adam Blake and his strange group of assistants on their way to a volcanic island in the South Pacific. They had crossed paths again in Australia when a dig was taken captive by a man named Joshua McCabe.

Tann stepped in the hall, heading for the rented room.

He touched the butt of his pistol in his belt. It made him feel better to know it was close at hand. Blake's interests in things seemed to run to the dramatically dangerous and sometimes strange.

Tann knocked on the door, listening as someone moved around the room.

"Open up," Tann called through the wood. "It's Tann."

"Are you alone?," Twitch said.

Tann looked down to both ends of the hall.

"No, I have a hundred bunyips with me," he said grumpily.

Twitch opened the door, peering out. He nodded as he let Tann in. He locked the door behind the Australian with a sigh.

"Can't be too careful, you know," Twitch said.

"What's going on?," Tann asked, walking to the window.

"Don't do that," Twitch said with a wince. "We're on the hot seat here."

Tann stepped away from the window, rubbing the back of his head.

"What's the story?," said Tann, gently.

"A lot of Foundation guys are missing," said Twitch. "We're looking for them."

"The others?," asked Tann.

"It's just me and the Chief," said the former informant. "Everybody else was tied up."

Tann grimaced at that. Morrigan was an uncanny shot. Carrington was a very good pilot and someone to watch your back. Nicola was a historian who had very little experience outside of his background in archaeology and anthropology. Tank Messer was cut from the same cloth as Cap.

Still Blake was a demon behind a bland mask. Tann had seen him move, and knew what he was capable of doing.

A buzzing reminded Tann of an angry bee hive. He noted the sound was coming from Twitch's belt. The shaky aide pulled an earpiece on, pressing a button on a box on his belt.

"What?," Twitch said. "Hi, Chief. Tann is here finally. What's the next move?"

Twitch went to the window and looked out, shaking in place, teeth chattering.

"I think we should run," Twitch said. "I think we should run now."

He suited action to words, heading for the door. He pushed his ally in front of him. Creaking moaned through the walls of the hotel room. The window glass shattered as cracks split the walls and ceiling.

"What's going on?," Tann asked, yanking the door open after fumbling with the lock.

The two men fell in the hall, scrambling for the stairs. The room collapsed behind them, falling toward the street.

"What is going on?," Tann asked again, shouting to be heard over the spreading destruction.

"I think the guy we are looking for found us first," Twitch shouted back. He pressed the red button as he flung himself down the stairs. "We need to get out of Dodge."

"Really?," said Tann, jumping after the faster man.

Twitch and Tann paused at the lobby. They tried to catch their breaths as other victims straggled down from their rooms. The adventurers moved to the glass doors that hadn't been cracked by the onslaught.

Tann pushed the left door open, other hand on his pistol. He knew this was the time an ambush would spring shut.

He had done the same thing when he had worked with the Queen's friends.

A car pulled to a stop in front of the wrecked building. Hard-eyed men scrambled to get out as Tann pulled his weapon. He fired, making the attempted abductors scramble for cover in a shower of glass and ringing steel. He fired the weapon dry as he ran down the walk.

"Got more here," said Twitch, pointing to another car turning the corner.

"Only have one clip left," said Tann, reloading the pistol.

"Let me have the gun," said Twitch, suddenly still. "Let me have it."

Tann flipped the weapon to him, wondering if it was the right move. Twitch caught the weapon, pointing it at the advancing car as steady as a rock. He fired once at the windshield. The driver slumped over, twisting the wheel to the right. The car smashed into the hotel's front behind the other car.

Twitch half-turned. He fired one more time. The bullet plunged into the gas tank. An explosive blast lit up the night, ripping the two cars apart.

"I think we should get out of here," Tann said, grabbing the pistol in one hand, Twitch's arm in the other. "Let's go."

Twitch nodded as he ran.

The two men jogged away, vanishing into the underground's entrance. Pedestrians blocked their way, but they pushed through until they reached the train station's platform.

"You took care of them, boyo," Tann said. "Good shooting."

"Luck of the draw," Twitch said.

Croyd Layton and Mike Zane went over the drawings in front of them quietly. They had pieced together a partial map and found a drawing of the door. Zane's command of odd languages helped them. Layton found a drawing that made him sit against the back of his chair.

"What is it?," Zane asked.

"I have seen this in Boston," said Croyd, showing him the picture. "It's locked up in a display case at the Foundation's house."

"Are you sure?," Zane asked.

"It's hard to make a mistake like that," said Croyd.

The drawing was a cross with round discs at the ends of the bars. Archaic letters ran the length of the long piece in strange squiggles.

"That fits in with what I have been able to decipher from this mishmash," said Zane. "This McCabe is after some kind of vault under this ruin. Supposedly it holds a treasure that is guarded by a demon. The cross is supposed to unlock the door."

"McCabe will want one of us to open the vault with the key," said Croyd, rubbing his chin absently.

"First he has to find it," said Zane. "That seems to be his one stumbling block."

"He will," said Croyd. "He may look dumb as a brick, but he has some kind of information source that lets him know how to get what he wants. He probably already knows about the key. He just hasn't retrieved it yet."

"So how can we exploit this?," Zane asked. "If we can get clear, we could get the authorities here to settle things."

"If we could get you clear," said Croyd, searching the cluttered table top. "That might slow things up so that McCabe would have to call his source here in person."

"How?," said Zane, holding up his chained hands.

"First we get you out of those," said the former thief, finding a thick piece of wire.

He went to work on the locks, watching the door for the returning guard.

Layton worked one lock in moments. The manacles clicked softly against the table top as Zane held them on the wood. The other cuff opened under the former One Shot's fingers as easily.

A small clumping preceded a guard returning with food in his hands. He leaned against the door frame, watching the two prisoners as he ate a sandwich off the tray. He frowned slightly at Zane's freed hands shuffling papers.

"How did you get out of those chains?," he asked, placing the food tray on the stone floor.

"I needed the freedom of movement," Zane said, smiling cheerfully.

"That's all well and good," said the guard, walking toward the seated men. "If the boss wanted your hands free, he would have unlocked you himself."

The guard glimpsed Layton shift out of the corner of his eye. He turned, aware that he should have called for the others. A fist landed below the belt, dropping him to the ground in a fetal position. That didn't stop the boot to his head.

"What a maroon," said Layton.

"I agree," said Zane, hobbling over to the downed guard to grab the keys for his remaining restraints. "War criminals are tougher than this."

"Any suggestions on where the vault should be?," Layton asked, taking the man's pistol. He checked the magazine without thinking.

"There are marks," said Zane. "They look like arrowheads. Some lead to hidden traps, instead of the right way."

"Let's see what we can do about getting you out of here," said Croyd. "Then I'll work on getting the others out."

"Layton," said Zane. "If you can't free the others safely, you will need to get the thing and keep it out of McCabe's hands."

"One thing at a time," said the former villain.

Adam Blake had spent the time waiting for Alex Tann calling his headquarters until he got an answer from Cully Morrigan. Then he asked Cully to get to Boston as soon as possible and keep an eye on Red Barton.

With that out of the way, he assembled a rifle out of components from one of the silver cases. He tried to avoid using firearms, but they had their place.

He didn't like risking bystanders, but felt that his reaction time and aim was up to the challenge. He needed the attack to commence so that Twitch and Tann could be followed to the enemy's headquarters without anyone suspecting his hand in things.

He dialed the other portable phone to let Twitch know his foe was getting ready to move. The strange electromagnetic weapon fired on the Tower in a blaze of light. He paused when he saw who was operating the device in the window. That was enough for the room to begin collapsing under the beam.

Blake raised the rifle in one smooth motion and fired. A fat tube shot across the intervening space silently. It hit the barrel of Arthur's invention. A small explosion flung the weapon and wielder back from the window.

Blake placed the rifle down on the roof before jumping across the street. He ran across the Tower's roof towards the taller building in a blur. He leaped across the space, smashing through the window for an empty office. He ran to the stairwell, thinking that he should put an end to this right now.

The man in black headed up the stairs, breathing slowly as he ran. The target office was in the north corner. All he had to do was get to that office before McCabe could execute either of the two obvious options he had.

Blake burst out in a hall. He had to move down the hall and around the corner since the staircase was in the opposite corner of the building with offices blocking a straight approach. He reached the corner, pausing at the sound of bolts being pulled.

He felt a scrittering along the skin of his face. He threw himself through a closed office door. The wood collapsed under the blow. A second later, the walls, floor, and ceiling in the hall came apart like wet tissue. Part of it fell outwards into the street. The beam played against the office walls, shredding it under giant, plucking fingers. The office furniture began to dance before coming apart at the seams. The ceiling collapsed in front of the weapon's discharge.

"I think that concludes our business for the day," said McCabe, with a grin. "Let's check on those nitwits to see if they got the job done."

McCabe dropped down to the floor below through the massive hole he had constructed. His men dropped down after him. They went to the stairwell to get to the ground floor.

Cully Morrigan stood in a tree's shadow, hand over the glow from the tip of his cigarette. Shark eyes regarded the house across the street intently. He seemed to be grinning in amusement, but those that knew him, knew he had a rictus from an encounter with his former employer, Harley Napier.

Cully had been in hiding when he met Adam Blake. Now he moved almost openly, waiting for Napier to come after him again even though they seemed to have reached a truce.

For the moment.

Cully had just gotten out of a jam in Church Hill when he had been asked to keep an eye on the house, and one of the men that lived there. The description had been so exact that he recognized his quarry the first time he saw him. Cully had followed him around town since.

The former hijacker knew he was some kind of backup plan. That was how Blake liked to do things. He liked to have options to call on when he needed them.

This Red Barton was a possible lead to crack the case, so he would be followed until the thing was cracked.

The door of the Foundation's house opened. Barton stepped out, carrying a suitcase. He went down the walk, turned, and headed for the corner. One hand waved for a taxi.

Cully had parked his own rented car close by. He flipped his cigarette away before going to the vehicle and starting the engine. He waited for Barton to get into the cab before pulling into the street in pursuit. He lifted an eyebrow as the yellow auto rolled to the airport.

Cully found a place to park, and followed the man into the terminal.

This could be bad, Cully decided.

Croyd Layton eased his way down a corridor. Mike Zane walked behind him slowly. They used Zane's markers as sign posts. Following the clipped ends promised to lead them out.

After minutes of walking, the two came to a room. Four guards played cards on a table made of a top on a set of sawhorses. They had placed their rifles against the wall.

Croyd picked up a handful of rocks off the ground. They wouldn't do any real damage, but might provide the distraction he needed.

He took aim. He threw one rock as hard as he could. The rock hit the man facing Croyd in the cheek. It ricocheted into the target's neighbor, making him stand up brushing at his face. Croyd rushed the table, confident he had surprise on his side. The rock had done its work well.

His hands pushed the closest man's head into the table. A foot kicked the table over as the first victim was thrown to the floor. The other sitting man turned into a punch, sending him sprawling. The two hit by the rock went for their pistols as the surprise wore off.

Croyd kicked the first man in the head before throwing himself on the other downed man. Bullets whined around him as he yanked the man on top of him as cover. The gunmen paused, thrown by the maneuver. It was a split second of indecision that let Croyd grab his prisoner's pistol and fire through the man's jacket without pulling it out of its shoulder holster. The guards rubbed their stung hands.

Croyd pushed the man away, getting to his feet.

"Hands up," Croyd demanded. "Get something to tie them up, Zane."

Zane gathered up belts and ties from the prisoners. He trussed them quickly and efficiently with the improvised bonds.

"Let's get this door open," said Zane, going to a barrier across the room's exit. He lifted up a lock bar with a grunt and leaned it against the wall with an effort.

A piece of collapsed wall shifted from where it had fallen when Arthur's beam machine had pulled the metal out. The hand behind that piece flexed, sending the fragment across the room. A dusty figure stood gracefully, clapping the dust off his hands and body with quick strokes.

Adam Blake listened to running feet. He hadn't captured his target, but knew what he was dealing with. It was an acceptable tradeoff.

He went to the window, looking out on the street. He was at the back of the building. He swung out quietly. He slid down the brick face, controlling his fall with his hands and feet. He dropped the last twenty feet to the ground.

Blake ran around the corner of the building, heading for the front. He paused to wait for his enemy.

He didn't have to wait long.

McCabe walked out of the building, carrying a long case with his one hand. Two men paced him to a waiting taxi. They blocked for him as they piled into the cab.

Blake watched the car pull away from the curb. He glided down the street, keeping the cab in sight. The heavy traffic helped him as he moved down the sidewalk.

McCabe's cab headed for the outskirts of London. It selected a road heading west. Blake had hitched a ride on the back of a lorry, holding on to the back of it with his incredible strength. The truck hovered behind the taxi.

Blake looked over the edge of the trailer. He saw the taxi enter a road to a village. He waited for the truck to pass the entrance road. He jumped off the back bumper when he was pass the narrow lane. He landed lightly on the side of the main road. He ran to the entrance road, using trees along the edge as cover.

He had a good idea where McCabe was going.

He had been in this part of the country before. Several of his comrades had fallen as they had harried their enemy back to its den near the village.

Cully Morrigan watched as Red Barton went down the walk way to his plane. The grinning man looked around. There had to be some way he could get on that plane.

Cully saw a man coming down to the gate, ticket in hand. He pulled one of the pistols he habitually carried. He got behind the stranger, shoving the metal against his back.

"Don't say anything," Cully said. "Or I'll blow you away right here. Got it?"

The man nodded fearfully.

"Come with me," Cully said, directing his victim into the bathroom.

"Close your eyes," Morrigan said.

He brought his pistol down against the man's head. Then he took the plane ticket and the man's luggage. He turned the ticket in at the gate and boarded the plane.

Cully grabbed his stolen seat as Barton sat four rows in front of him. He settled into place as the wheels turned.

The trip over the ocean was uneventful. The airliner descended to Heathrow, jolting sleeping passengers awake. Cully had not slept. He had watched Barton read the whole trip under the light of a small lamp. Cully waited for Barton to lead the way off the plane when the doors had been thrown open to let them off.

He hid his pistols on the concourse before going through Customs. He could always circle back and retrieve them later, or pick up new ones somewhere.

He knew a couple of guys in Ireland who would get him a case of weapons for the asking.

Cully got close enough to hear the destination Barton gave his cab driver. He watched the black sedan pull off.

Twitch Twitchell looked out the train's window. He had turned off the miniature phone's tracer when it beeped that the service was disconnected. He didn't know what that meant, but felt it wasn't anything good.

"What's the plan?," the shaky man asked his companion.

Alex Tann came back from his day dreaming. He twisted his neck to either side, listening to the bones crackle.

"Blake was obviously watching the hotel," he said. "I guess we could go back and find where he was watching from and see if he left us something."

"Sounds good to me," said Twitch. "Unless that whatever it is still back there waiting for us."

"I haven't seen anything like that either," admitted Tann. "I'm sure that whomever was causing that is gone by now."

"Sometimes I wonder how I got hooked up with this crazy stuff," Twitch said.

"I felt like that during the War," said Tann.

The train pulled to a stop at the next station's platform. The two warily disembarked from the conveyance. They headed for the street. Tann led the way back to the Tower Hotel.

Just because he thought his enemy had moved wouldn't make him drop his guard.

A crowd had gathered in front of the hotel. Barricades were thrown up to keep everybody back from the fire fighters inspecting the damage. The two paused at the back of the mob.

"You see that building on the other side of the hotel?," Twitch asked, pointing.

"What about it?," Tann asked.

"Let's start there," said Twitch. "I can see the beam cut through our floor from this other damaged place over there. The one I want to look over has a direct line with the Hotel and the other office."

"I see what you're saying," said Tann. "Let's do that."

The two circled the crowd quietly. They entered the office building, heading for the roof. They had silently agreed that was the place to start their search. A quick elevator trip and a search for the exit allowed them on the gravel covered area. One quick look turned up Blake's discarded rifle and equipment cases.

"Look through the case," said Swan. "I think the rifle breaks down in the other one."

"What do you think happened?," asked Twitch, checking the inside of the case.

"Maybe Blake made them stop before they killed someone," said Swan.

Mike Zane moved from tree to tree. The shadows that pooled under the branches were his friends. He covered a few miles like this when he saw a lights of a small village ahead. He cautiously approached the buildings, not wanting to attract attention. He had no way to tell who was involved with McCabe. That mound couldn't have been dug up without someone knowing about it.

In a small place like this, everyone should have known within an hour at the most. A good story may have gotten some kind of cooperation.

Zane stood against the wall of a pub. It had been a long time since he was in the field like this. He had taken over the London branch administration for the Foundation at the end of the war. His duties had kept him away from the more active side of things.

He regretted that now.

Zane saw a phone kiosk on the next corner. He trotted to it, looking around for any stray villager. He slipped inside the booth, pulling the earpiece off the hook. This thing must service the whole town, he decided as he listened for a dial tone.

Probably needed an operator and switchboard to make a call to London.

Zane blinked as lights played on the booth. He raised his hand to shade his eyes, peering at the new arrival rolling towards the mound. A sudden hunch told him to run for it. Glass shattered from the kiosk as he bolted into the street.

Zane ran, trying to use the houses and closed stores as cover as bullets poked the bricks around him. The use of silencers meant he may have misjudged the locals. He would have to apologize to them if he got out his predicament.

Something wrapped around Zane's mouth. He had a flying sensation in his gut. He was pushed against something rough.

"Quiet," said a whisper.

Zane closed his eyes, listening for the whine of a bullet in his ear.

"They are leaving," said Adam Blake, eyes reflecting the crescent moon eerily.

Cully Morrigan rode in the back of a taxi. He had evaded customs to reclaim his pistols from their hiding place. He stared out the window, taking notice of his surroundings in a clinical way.

He had never been out of country before his affiliation with Blake. Now he had been to the South Pacific, and London.

Who would have thought?

Cully had given the driver the same address he had heard Barton say. The driver had looked at him like he was a nut. Cully had given more of his exchanged money as a down payment. The driver smiled.

Cully wished he had gotten a map. He knew he could walk into a bad situation and had to take it on the run.

He needed to start looking at geography books before he got involved in any more of these crazy things.

The ride took most of the night as Cully silently waited for the next target to flip up in front of him. He had learned to live with the waiting.

If you lived long enough doing what he used to do.

Cully paid the man when he reached his destination. He looked about in seeming amusement at the village laid out in front of him. The taxi pulled away as he looked for a place to eat. The next few hours could leave him with little chance for food.

He didn't want to get shot at because his stomach had started talking to him for some grub and beer.

Besides he also had to find out where Barton had gone.

The man was a key piece in all this turmoil.

A quiet talk with a shopkeeper sweeping his walk netted him directions to a pub. An order of eggs, toast, bacon, and milk got the waitress to open up enough to say he was the only stranger in town as far as she knew.

Cully nodded. After breakfast, he decided, he would have to take a closer look at things unless someone decided he needed to be taken off the board first.

He would like someone to try.

Adam Blake looked out a window, metallic green eyes taking in the village quietly.

"Barton has arrived," he said quietly.

Mike Zane looked up from his notes, brow raised.

"What makes you say that?," he said.

"Mr. Morrigan is here in the village," Blake said. "Stay here."

He went to the door and left.

Zane went to the window. He saw a pale man standing on the corner, grinning like an idiot. The man's eyes seemed as flat as pieces of black rock. Blake revealed himself, and the two talked. Then they walked to the rooming house where Zane was watching them. He heard them come up the stairs.

At least he heard the new arrival. Blake seemed as silent as he was fast.

"Mr. Morrigan," Blake said. "This is Mr. Zane."

"Hello," said Zane, not sure what to make of the man.

"Hi," said Morrigan. "I don't know where Barton went, but this is the place he told his hack to take him."

"He must be at the mound with the key by now," said Zane. "Layton said the Boston House had the cross indicated in the papers we saw."

"Mr. Twitchell and Mr. Tann have recovered my case and weapon," said Blake. "They will be joining us shortly. The mobile phone was more useful than I thought it would be."

"What's the plan?," said Cully, lighting a cigarette.

"Mr. Zane will take Mr. Twitchell, and Mr. Tann, to the prisoners so that you can free them," said Blake. "You and I will have a talk with Mr McCabe about opening the central chamber. Then we will reseal the mound against intrusion."

"It's of historical significance," said Zane. "We can't just shut it away without study."

"Normally I would agree with you," said Blake. "Trust me when I say that some sleeping dogs should be left to lie."

"How do you know that?," said Zane.

"Because I have been here before, Mr. Zane," said the mystery man. "I know what has been buried in the ground there."

Croyd Layton worked his way deeper in the maze. He briefly wondered how Zane was doing as he prepared to cross a narrow stone bridge over a chasm.

Hopefully the man had escaped to let someone know what was going on.

Croyd crossed the bridge, turning his attention to the opening on the other side. The place was obviously old, the stones for the bridge placed by hand. How had anybody been able to construct a maze like this under the earth?

More importantly, what did McCabe expect to find down here?

Croyd took a left, then a right. So far the arrows were leading him the right way. He paused at the pile of armor and bones that confronted him. He gave the find a once-over. Chain armor and a red tunic over a broken skeleton, a sword snapped in two by its side, a helmet crushed.

Five lines were engraved in the wall above the body.

"I hope I don't run into whatever made that," Croyd said to himself.

Layton started down the slippery trail again. He needed to get to whatever it was before McCabe did. If it was anything like that power stone in Australia, it had to be something portable and extremely dangerous for anyone to use.

Croyd followed the arrows until he came to a locked door set in a blank wall. He noticed a blob of wax had been set over the lock. An impression of a cross had been pressed into the wax while it would stop.

Croyd frowned as he peeled the wax away with his fingertips. He examined the lock under the light from his flashlight. It looked simple enough to pick.

He pulled out his pocket knife and went to work. He had the pins pushed back in matter of minutes. A simple pull dislocated the lock.

Croyd smiled.

He shoved the door open, ready for something to attack him. He looked for the arrow, following it to the center of the maze.

The only thing that could stand in his way was the special key that was in Boston.

Joshua McCabe held the man he had left in charge, Cory Nicholls, by the front of his shirt with his one good hand. His bulldog features were twisted in rage.

"What do you mean they escaped?," he demanded from his lackey.

"Layton and Zane got away," Nicholls said, trying to breath through the choking grip on his throat. "Zane made it outside. We don't know what happened to Layton."

"He probably descended to the crypt," said McCabe. "What about Ventura, and the rest."

"They haven't got back yet," answered the henchman.

McCabe tossed the man aside. One eye fidgeted in his fury.

"When Barton arrives with the key," he finally decided, "everyone but Nicholls and Flaherty will go to the tomb. You two will stay here and guard the hostages. If anyone shows up, you guys will need to buy time for us to loot the crypt and return. Understood?"

The indicated rearguard nodded their heads reluctantly.

"Everybody get your weapons and supplies together," McCabe ordered. "You two get what you need and put it in the cell with the prisoners. As soon as Barton arrives, we go."

The men scurried to follow the orders. Their employer was not known for his good humor in the best of times. He could easily lose his temper and use the magnetic gun in the close confines of the underground network. Their bodies would be lost until someone else came along.

McCabe thought about what Blake's next move would be. He saw a confrontation in the offing between himself and the mystery man. He patted the magnetic gun for reassurance.

Adam Blake and his small group stood at the entrance of the mound. He scanned the surroundings with his strange eyes. He had distributed the contents of his equipment case to the others. Twitch Twitchell still had the mobile phone.

He had been over the plan with the others enough to know they would be able to get their end done. It would be up to him and Cully Morrigan to run McCabe into the ground.

"Let's get this over with," said Twitch, shaking from head to toe.

Blake nodded as he went to the main doors. They were covered with grass to help conceal them from anybody who didn't know they were there. He slapped the covering with both hands. The doors flew inward under his direction. He stepped inside, listening with his keen hearing.

The easy part was over.

Mike Zane, Alex Tann, and Twitch broke off and started down the hall toward the dudgeon. Blake and Morrigan started down the marked path towards the crypt in the center of the maze. They moved in silence, ready to be attacked on all sides by McCabe's gunmen.

Zane led the way to the cells. The small group passed the work room where he had deciphered the notes and inscriptions. He noted that the papers were gone. Obviously Barton was helping in that regard. He was a linguistics expert, probably better than Zane was. He would have made short work of the notes that were written down.

Zane paused at the entrance to the hall of cells. He pointed at the doors where his fellows had been chained up. Tann nodded, looking down the barrel of the rifle he had retrieved from the roof. The scope told him someone was waiting behind one of the doors on his right.

The only thing he could think to do was blow the doors and hope the hostages weren't killed in the assault when they rushed the door. He reached for one of the explosive grenades he had liberated.

Twitch grabbed his shoulder to stop him.

Croyd Layton, balked by the crypt door, took cover behind a hideous statue pressed in an alcove. He cut off his light, listening as voices came closer in the dark. He waited, eyes adjusting to the pitch blackness.

"All right, barton," said McCabe, waving his light as he talked. "Open the door."

Croyd tensed when Red Barton stepped in front of the flashlights with the warped wooden cross in his hands. He wanted to grab Barton by the throat as he suddenly understood how McCabe had been able to orchestrate events. He watched Horton press the cross to the lock and turn it.

He idly wondered if Adama was dead as the group pressed on the heavy door. It slid out of the way slowly, unused to the touch of man. McCabe led the way inside, grinning broadly at the thought of what he could do with whatever power had been buried.

Layton got behind the last man in line. One swing of a stolen pistol put the unwary gun man down. Layton advanced, wondering how he was going to stop this.

None noticed one of the statues changing as the door opened. Gray chips snapped off as the stone flexed. Suddenly a claw cut through the long skeletal fingers of the statue. The covering cracked along its spine with a sudden ripple. Long teeth crunched, freeing its wide mouth and narrow chin.

Red flame lit the once-statue's eyes as the thing stepped off its pedestal, tail whipping the rest of its prison away with a small crackling like bone snapping.

It moved to the door, pulling it close. It listened at the stone, laughing softly to itself.

The mistress would be glad of the company.

Adam Blake and Cully Morrigan paused at the last door. Blake pushed the door open gently. The crypt lay beyond over the stone bridge.

"Hold on," he said gently, listening to the space.

"Why?," asked Morrigan, drawing one of his pistols. "The gang has already gone ahead."

"They activated the guardian," Blake said, crossing the bridge slowly.

"Guardian?," said Cully, following even more slowly.

"Sir Tempus? I see you have returned after all these years," said the living statue, walking to block the end of the bridge. "I would have thought you would be dead by now."

"My name is Blake now, Nebiros," said the mystery man. "Would you please move?"

"I think not," said the muscular demon, tail whipping. "And I don't see how you can move me without the aid of Sir Lancelot, or the other scions of Camelot."

Cully drew his other weapon, grinning as usual. He took aim and fired both pistols until they were empty. He was not surprised to see the bullets bounce off that scaly hide. He was surprised to see Blake to leap in the air and kick the creature out of the way.

"You have gotten much stronger than the last time we met," said Nebiros. "Let's see how much stronger you really are."

"I have had some further training," admitted Blake, standing erect.

Cully jumped off the bridge, reloading his weapons with a series of clicks. He went to the door. He has some of those explosive blocks that Blake occasionally used. He slapped them on the stone, placing the thumb activated detonators and pushing them.

He got away from the door as fast as he could.

Twitch Twitchell took a small metal ball, pulling the pin at the top, from his pocket. He closed one eye as he took aim at the small barred window that was being used as a gun port. He became as still as the stale air. Then he threw the sphere.

The ball hit the bar on the left and bounced inside the cell. There was a moment of shouting, then a small bang. Then some clattering as metal hit the stone floor.

"How do you do that?," Tann asked, running up with his pistol drawn. He held his breath as he peered through the door window. One of the men was laid out against the door.

Where was the other one?

A screaming burst of bullets chewed the wood in front of Tann's face. He ducked down as splinters scratched his face.

He gestured Twitch closer. They would have to get through the door and take the guy out before he hurt someone. One hostage could hold them back for hours, enough time to let McCabe handle Blake, while they were trying to end their situation.

"He's back behind a support column with a tommy gun," Tann said. "Any ideas?"

"Maybe you could talk to him?," Twitch said, shaking all over. "You know. Tell him the jig is up."

Tann looked dubious, but stood up next to the window.

"Hey, you in there," he shouted through the bars. "If you throw down your weapon, we'll let you go."

"Why should I believe you?," asked the gun man, aiming at the door.

"We're not police," Tann said. "We'll gladly trade your freedom for whomever is alive in there with you. Of course if you kill anybody, deal's off."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?," said the gunman.

"A gesture of faith on both sides, I guess," said Tann. "You let our people go, and we'll throw down our weapons."

"We'll what?," whispered Twitch.

"Okay, I'm for that," said the gunman.

Croyd Layton clubbed another man down as he worked his way down the line. The group had crossed a narrow bridge to an enclosed chamber on a pillar that descended out of sight in the dark.

Croyd paused at the door of the chamber. He peered inside, pistol in one hand, in case he was spotted. A sarcophagus dominated the center of the room. McCabe lit the torches set in the walls for his examination. The top of the stone box was a stylized woman with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Open it, Barton," said McCabe, gesturing at the tomb. "Let's see what's hidden inside."

"Are you sure,?" asked Barton, examining the marks along the edge of the lid. "There is a warning about disturbing the body."

"We didn't come all this way to stop at the mummy's curse," declared the mastermind. "Open it."

Barton shrugged, putting the papers he held on the ground. He knew better than to argue. He felt the edges of the lid carefully. When he thought he had located the right spot, he picked up the journal and leafed through it. He paused when he found the passage he wanted.

Barton spoke. Each word came alive with echoes. Small lines cracked across the top of the lid, or in the air above it. Barton said the last word, one hand cutting the air. A crackling answered his decree.

"Let's take the lid off," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. He placed the book down beside the box.

Four of the men grabbed the stone lid and lifted it. A cloud erupted from inside the coffin. The lid was leaned beside the box, as McCabe loomed closer with the magnetic gun ready.

He didn't know how much good it would against organic material, but he was ready nonetheless.

A gloved hand grabbed the edge of the cell. An armored figure sat up in the coffin. Features grew over the skull that had been exposed to the air. Long black hair descended from the stern featured head.

"I see I have been rescued at last," she said. "How shall I repay such brave knights?"

"What's going on here?," McCabe said, brow furrowing over his small eyes. "No one said anything about a woman."

"This isn't just a woman," Barton warned. "This is Morgan le Fay according to the notes."

"You have got to be kidding me," McCabe said, glaring at the spy. "She didn't exist."

Adam Blake and Nebiros barely looked away from each other as the two charges cut a small divot in the thick door. Cully Morrigan scratched his head, trying to come up with a new plan with the limited amount of equipment he had.

"You feel that, Tempus?," the scaly demon gloated. "The mistress is awake."

Blake used the wall of the inner chamber as a springboard. He seemed to gently step against Nebiros's head. He dropped straight to the stone floor as all of his striking power had been absorbed by the demon. The creature flew across the chasm and embedded itself in the far wall.

"Can you kick the door down?," Cully asked. "Those fancy explosives didn't do that much."

"I see," said Blake, eyes momentarily more green and glittering than usual. "Keep an eye on our friend."

Cully nodded as he stepped away from the door. That thing must weigh five hundred pounds, and Blake punted it like a football across that ninety yard gap.

How strong was he?, Cully thought.

Blake felt the damage to the door with his fingers. He placed his body to shield what he was doing with his hand as he punched. The cracked stone flew inward, leaving a gap wide enough to walk through.

Nebiros dug itself out of the opposite wall with a scrabble of claws. It leaped to the bridge easily. Then it ran at the two adventurers on all fours. Cully emptied both pistols into it as a distraction.

He knew small arms fire wouldn't do anything but scratch the thing's scales.

Nebiros reared up. It was twice as fast as any normal human. Its claws could shred steel armor like a cook peeled potatoes. This foolish man was dead.

Two hands grabbed the tip of the demon's tail. Suddenly it was flying through the air again. Its wide shoulders hit the still intact upper part of the door, while the lower half went through the open bottom half. Its chin slammed against the stone flooring with a snap.

"One day you are going to tell me how you can do that," Cully declared as he took a block of plastic explosive, molded it like a ball, and set the detonator. He flung the makeshift grenade against the creature's head as hard as he could. The bomb went off, punching the big thing through the air like a giant's right hook.

"I have been trained by a man known as the One," said Blake, moving to the broken door with his usual mechanical grace. "It allows you to channel your chi into the physical world in a casual way."

"What's chi?," Cully asked, searching his pockets. He didn't have anything left to handle the big lizard.

Blake stepped through the broken door silently.

The demon would have to come before lessons in unlocking your potential.

Alex Tann lowered his rifle and leaned it against the wall. He dropped one of his pistols next to it. He kept his backup in his waistband at the base of his spine. Twitch Twitchell laid his pistol beside the other weapons.

Nicholls unchained the prisoners one at a time, directing them to stand in front of the door. The last one was Madeline Oak. He held her in front of him as a shield. He tossed the door key down on the floor so the prisoners could let themselves out.

"Let's go, people," Twitch said. "Somebody drag this guy out of here."

The Foundation personnel moved out of the cell quietly. Two grabbed Flaherty under his arms and pulled him down the hall towards the outside door.

"As soon as the hall clears," said Tann. "We'll talk about letting you get out of here with your skin."

"Just do it," said Nicholls. "I want to get away from here."

Tann stepped back from the door, gesturing for the Foundation people to keep going. Twitch shakily stood on the other side of the frame. A mad rush would knock him out of the way. That wasn't likely with Madeline standing in front of him.

"Back up," said Nicholls, pushing Madeline forward, while keeping an arm around her neck. "I'll let the girl go when I get to a car."

"Don't let him," said Madeline. "Shoot him."

"What?," said Nicholls and Swan.

"Shoot him," said Madeline again, a little louder. Her eyes were closed.

"Shut up," said Nicholls, digging his pistol in her cheek. "No one asked you."

Madeline grabbed the pistol's barrel in her hands, jerking it away from her face. The revolver went off, burning her hands. Another gun exploded near her ear. She paused as the grip around her neck went slack and dropped away.

"It's over, Miss," Tann said, raising the backup pistol from his firing position. "Go join the others."

"Where's Croyd?," Madeline asked, ripping bandages from Nicholls's jacket for her hands.

"We're looking for him," said Twitch. "Don't worry, the Chief is great at this type of stuff."

"I am Morgana as you can see," said the woman, standing in her opened tomb. "Thank you for freeing me."

Dark, flowing hair hung to her waist as she stepped down from the stone box. The long dress she wore glittered in the flashlight beams. Hazel eyes did not share the smile she bestowed on the men.

"There was supposed to be a treasure here," McCabe complained.

"Do you not think I am treasure enough?," Morgana asked.

"Yes, we do," said Barton, notebook and papers back in his hands.

A loud thump sounded against the closed door of the crypt. The men looked that way, startled by the blow.

"Hey, it's Layton," said one of the gun men, spraying the hall with his tommy gun. The expended brass glittered in the light as it tinkled on the stone floor.

Croyd threw himself behind a statue as the bullets ricocheted in the narrow confines of the hall.

"Give it up, McCabe," Croyd demanded. "That was probably Blake getting ready to blow this place wide open."

"I am afraid he will be too late, Croyd," said Barton, taking one of Morgana's hands in his. "Much too late."

Barton dropped his papers in the box, then dug into Morgana's throat with his freed fingers. He began to chant quietly as he pressed her wind pipe closed. White light seeped from her eyes and mouth, drawing faint lines to the traitor.

"What are you doing?," McCabe demanded, latching onto his shoulder.

A small line diverted from Horton to him, sending a surge of electricity through his system. He stared in disbelief as fingers grew back on his ruined hand. He dropped to the floor as his body reached its limit.

Croyd snapped off a quick shot, trying to stop the event. A tremendous storm answered his effort. He had to drop back behind the statue. At least his bullet had served his purpose first by slicing across Horton's arm.

Then a tailed, big headed, scaly version of Popeye flew into the room and impacted against the tomb.

The scene was chaos as the newly arrived demon flailed around it with its bladed claws faster than a man could follow. Streams of blood flew against the stone floor and walls as bodies were vivisected in seconds.

McCabe kicked away from Barton, aiming his magnetic gun. He fired at the traitor, knowing the effects were unpredictable against flesh and blood. The invisible beam seemed to have little effect on the Foundation spy.

Morgana fell to the floor. Her body seemed to melt away as her eyes rolled up in her head. Blood stained the corner of her mouth and eyes.

Croyd stood up, firing into the large creature with pistols in both hands. He was joined by a stream of bullets from the door as a grinning man and Adam Blake appeared in the entrance. He was not surprised to see sparks from where his bullets bounced away from the scaly thing.

"Kill them, Nebiros," Barton commanded the creature, pointing at the three blocking the exit.

"Not your servant," said the toothy thing. "But will kill Tempus for free."

Nebiros leapt at the man in black, claws extended. One hand grabbed a muscular wrist. Then the wall slammed the demon's face with a cracking sound.

Barton frowned at what he saw. He was sure that no man could stand up to a demon. He didn't like what he had seen happen.

Barton pointed a hand at the mystery man. A fireball sliced through the air as he gestured. Blake pulled Nebiros in front of himself. The blast shattered against the scaly, narrow chest. The demon flew through the air from the hammer blow.

Cully reloaded hastily. The former hijacker grimaced under his frozen smile as he realized he was on his last clips of ammunition. He took aim, intending to put a stop to some of this, or at least distract the turncoat until a solution presented itself. He fired, grimacing as Barton caught the bullets in some type of invisible net.

Croyd took aim. He only had one bullet left in his borrowed pistol. The other was empty. He pulled the trigger. The bullet bounced around the room until it creased the back of Barton's skull. The turncoat fell over from the impact.

Croyd smiled as the smoke cleared from the barrel of his pistol.

Joshua McCabe examined his options. He was alone. Three guys who had no reason to like him were between him and the door. There was no treasure, and Barton was out, or dead.

No need to mention the unhappy demon flailing away at Blake with the speed of an electric blender.

On the other hand, he had been forgotten. He had Arthur's magnetic gun, and a regular pistol in a shoulder holster.

Time for him to be bold and decisive, and get away from the battlefield as fast as possible.

McCabe fired the magnetic gun at the four in the doorway. He almost laughed as the metal on the four exploded away from them. He jumped up and ran for the door, firing his pistol as he went. The treasure hunter slipped through the chaos he had caused and ran down the short hall toward freedom.

Nebiros blocked the exit as Cully and Croyd tried to chase him down. He smiled at them with his dagger-like teeth.

Blake's foot smashed him out of the way. A fist slammed the demon's head against the hall's wall. It was enough to make a hole for Cully and Croyd to slip by. He pulled Nebiros's head the other way, slamming him against the wall on the other side of the hall.

"Stop, and I'll shoot," Cully shouted, as he ran after the mastermind.

McCabe turned, raising his pistol to fire at the meddler. At least someone would die for this failure.

Croyd ran forward, knotting his ragged belt around a piece of one of his pistols. He spun the improvised weapon over his head as his new ally dropped under the two bullets flying his way. He flung the semi-bola through the air. The weight slapped against McCabe's face, startling him. He staggered to one side, falling off the bridge with a yell.

Adam Blake faced Nebiros, eyes leaking green energy, cuts letting blood on his clothes. He had a plan to end this once and for all. He hoped Barton appreciated the irony.

The first part of the plan was to stun Nebiros.

The demon rushed in with its inhuman speed, claws slicing the air. A grab sent the creature flying to the other side of the chamber. Blake leaped after it, green heat surrounding his hand. He swung, directing his chi into the creature's. There was a small explosion as the green energy was released. Nebiros embedded himself into the wall.

Blake figured he had a minute to start the second part of his plan.

He grabbed Barton off the ground, pulling the cross from his pocket. He dropped the man in the box that Morgana had slept in as the centuries passed. He dropped the lid back on the tomb easily.

Nebiros pulled itself from its niche.

"What do you think you are doing?," the demon demanded, wiping purple ichor from its face.

"I have total recall," said Blake, slapping the stone lid hard in the corners. He knew the blows would fuse the sarcophagus closed. "I remember the words we used to seal Morgana up so long ago. Do you?"

Nebiros paused.

"You are not a wizard," the demon said. "You can't possibly do that."

Blake began to speak, words becoming a physical presence as he pronounced each syllable. Almost visible waves of pressure rushed out from him as focused on the memory of the ceremony he had undertaken with those that had imprisoned Morgana in centuries past.

Nebiros stared down at its clawed hands. It knew that feeling well. Stone replaced the scales one by one, starting with its fingers and toes and working up its limbs with stunning speed. It leaped at Blake angrily.

"Tempus!," it had time to say before its jaw locked open.

Blake caught the statue, easing it to the floor.

The mystery man turned, walking out of the crypt. He still had things to do.

epilogue

Adam Blake watched as the group walked toward the village below the mound. The local law had been called to take the surviving kidnapers away. Explosives that had not been used were on the main door as he walked away. A simple thumb push on a remote closed the mound for a few more years.

He had shattered the cross and the door to the crypt before he had joined the others on the surface. He hoped that was enough to keep people clear until his watch was over.

Horton could sleep forever as far as he was concerned.

-^-^-^-

Joshua McCabe wished he could see. It was dark now that everyone was finally gone. He had heard the magnetic gun smash itself as he fell. Blind luck had allowed him to catch some kind of outcropping. He had cracked a rib over that.

Now all he had to do was climb up until he found the walkway out. Then he would make his way back up to the entrance and leave.

Then he would think about paying Blake and Layton back for their ruining his plan.

Then he would find Red Barton and pay him back for his betrayal.

First he had to get out of the hole he was in.

-^-^-^-

She sat under a tree near the mound. She watched the line of people walk away as she rubbed her neck. She hoped she had fooled Tempus with her little show.

She had lost some of her gift to that one, Barton. Worse, she had lost the thread of his thoughts. If he had died, all of the power he had stolen was thrown to the winds.

Morgana brushed her hands over her clothing, changing it to resemble the style of the times she found herself in. She stood up, wincing when the mound partially collapsed from the loud boom of thunder.

Tempus had not lost any of his tricks. The last time they had dealt with each other, Tempus had carried a sword that sliced through any material but Excalibur.

His physical powers had not been that great, but things change when you have slept the number of centuries she had.

She would have to get used to this new world and collect as much information as she could before she tried to assert control over things.

At least Merlin had been destroyed with Camelot.

That was one less nuisance to have to deal with.

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