That they approached a truly ancient city was not seriously in doubt at this point. Sly and his seven companions overlooked a huge cavern, the ground sloping precipitously, and they could see light ahead, a flare in the shades’ night-vision.
The source of the light was the main square of an urban centre. The mass of the city surrounding the plaza was dead, a long-deserted mausoleum, but the square itself was lit by bonfires, sconces hung from nearby walls, and lanterns that moved carried by unseen hands through the streets. The illumination reached buildings six stories tall and cast shadows from piles of rubble six foot deep.
The far side of the square held a massive archway structure, the Arc de Triomphe in Paris or Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate, or the Arch of Constantine in Rome, consisting of a great central archway with two minor but impressive spans accessed by steps on either side.
Someone swore, an exclamation chasing an expletive, and another team-member laughed, high-pitched and manic. Clarke, Sly thought. Ahead of him, Nio stared down through the security fence at the necropolis and its molten centre.
“Bitten off more than we can chew?”
“At eight to twelve soldiers a campfire, there could be a hundred and sixty to two hundred soldiers down there,” Smith said. “On the high side for nine of us.”
“There are only eight of us,” Nio said, looking around.
“Marcus counts as two,” Smith retorted quickly, to laughter.
“We’re not invading a city,” Sly said, the cold finger of premonition at his neck as he stared out at the vast shadows moving in the flickering firelight. “The place is a ruin, as lifeless as Pompeii. We’re after only one man, if we can get him. Ghost.”
“They’re moving,” someone else said.
“They saw Emil and ran,” Smith joked. The big man took the abuse stoically.
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“If there’s two hundred of them, they’ll be mobilising, heading this way.”
“The fires are a feint,” said Sly, feeling the fall into professorial mode but unable to slow the drop, “to fool us that they have more men, giving them time to withdraw, while giving them a better view of the streets. In the civil war, Confederate General Magruder built entire dummy encampments. All that could all be fake.”
“Is forty against seven that much better?” Singh asked.
“Forty armed with crossbows versus one man and a machine gun?” Sly said wryly. “Head-on, machine guns win.”
Ramirez scoffed. “We’re not superheroes, we can’t bat away overwhelming lethal ordnance even ifthey’re only arrows. But I won’t give up Ghost.”
When they approached the security gate, breath steaming into the frigid air, they found it had been breached. Sly eyed pieces of modern steel, and bits of a shattered padlock lying on the cold ground. He thought it likely the chain was destroyed from the other side of the gate, though he couldn’t know for sure.
What could do this to thick steel? Liquid nitrogen and a hammer?
They strode through, stepping over a red ‘No Entry’ sign on the ground.
The shades normally made the dark less oppressive, but in this open area the effective range of the devices was limited, particularly with the flare from the city square ahead. The fireteam entered the city in a single long, straight run, down steps as wide as a street but unable to see more than a hundred yards ahead. The descent reminded Sly of skiing downhill in flurries of snow. His heart pounded, more terror than excitement, evoked by the accident that took his eye.
Then Ramirez signalled for ‘leapfrog’, and individuals took turns to run while the rest provided cover, preferring stealth to outright speed. Most abandoned streets in a deserted city, topside, would be split by grass or roots, but underground the pavement was unbroken. Everything once growing was dead. Breathing hard, he didn’t complain when Ramirez picked up the pace and pointed to a broader avenue, where a faint orange glow reflected from crumbling brickwork.
Ramirez lifted his hand, slowing the others into a stealthier approach. Despite his pride Sly was grateful for the reprieve. He caught his breath as the troop slowed to use the collapsed fa?ades of age-old roadside buildings for cover.
On the way he noticed white, pale and desiccated trees with no leaves along the avenue, and empty rings in the stone where shrubs had been. He glanced up, seeking the cavern ceiling.
How had trees grown without the sun? Mirrors?
Focused on keeping up with the others, eyes down at his feet in the rubble, he was startled to look up and see the bright edge of the broad central square.
