The flight was long, but the food was significantly better than the fare she had been fed so far, and the regularity with which it was served helped her mark the passage of time. Shortly after the fifth meal—somewhere between ten and fifteen hours after leaving the Cerberus facility, if her estimation was correct—she was brought to Tyndareus.
“We will be landing in a few hours,” he said, his manner as offhand as his age and its associated afflictions would allow. “Then we will drive to the coordinates you supplied. Unfortunately, the map is of such a scale that the target area is more than a hundred square miles. Hardly an ideal situation, wouldn’t you agree?”
Fiona shrugged. “It’s the best I could do with what you gave me.”
“Mmmm. Yes.” He tented his fingers in front of his face. “I’ve just heard from Mr. Rohn. As you predicted, the Amazon yielded nothing of substance, though we did find evidence to support both your interpretation of the map and Dr. Kenner’s underlying premise.” He paused a beat, then added, “He also reported to me that Dr. Gallo made an ill-advised attempt to escape.”
The news caught Fiona off-guard. She almost said, ‘Good for her,’ but Tyndareus had also used the word attempt. “Is she okay?”
A faint smile curled the old man’s lips. “She took a foolish risk with your life, child. I was quite clear about the consequences of such an action. Now, she’s put me in a rather awkward position. You have become far more valuable to me as a resource than as a hostage, yet I cannot let this rebellion go unpunished. I am a man of my word.”
“Bullshit!”
Tyndareus flinched under the verbal assault. Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona saw the goons moving to defend their boss, but she was done playing nice. “Aunt Gus only cooperated with you because you threatened to hurt me, and then as soon as she was gone, you used me as a lab rat. You planned to kill us both right from the start, so don’t even talk to me about keeping your word.”
Tyndareus’s weird blue eyes flashed dangerously. “You will not pay the price for her mistakes, child, but be assured, she will most certainly pay for yours, so choose your words with greater care.”
The threat stopped Fiona’s rising ire cold. She bit back another retort. “Fine. I’m sorry.”
“Do you need a demonstration? Shall I have Mr. Rohn bring us one of her hands? I will let you choose which. Left or right?”
“I said, I’m sorry,” Fiona replied through clenched teeth. She was pretty sure that the old man was just trying to make a point, but what if he was serious? “I’ll help you.”
The silence that followed quickly grew uncomfortable, prompting Fiona to raise her eyes to him once more.
“I trust you understand how vital it is that you cooperate with me,” he said. “For your own safety and Dr. Gallo’s.” He watched her for a moment, a lopsided smile making a brief appearance. “The map coordinates you gave us are not precise enough. I need to know if there is any other information on the map that can narrow our search parameters. Perhaps something that you have been intentionally withholding from me.”
Fiona felt a chill shoot through her veins. He knows about the Mother Tongue. But how? Did Aunt Gus let something slip? Did that animal Rohn torture her? Or is Tyndareus bluffing again?
Two can play that game.
“The writing on that map is a form of Linear A, the language of the Minoan culture, which lived almost four thousand years ago.” Her voice was terse, as if weary of explaining herself. “If you think I’m holding back, go hire somebody else to read it. Oh, that’s right. Nobody knows how to read it. Half of what I did was guesswork. The other half was luck.”
She took a breath, held it a moment then went on in a more conciliatory tone. “I do know this. The ancient Minoans used language as a way of protecting their secrets from the unworthy. They left signs in the Labyrinth as a test. If you could read the signs, you could find your way out. If not, you’d wander around forever. They probably left similar signs pointing the way to the Underworld.”
“You think we’ll find these signs once we get there?”
She nodded. “Actual, literal road markers that only someone who reads Linear A would recognize.”
This seemed to satisfy Tyndareus. He made a shooing motion, signaling that the audience was at an end.
That had been eight hours ago. Their flight had arrived in Montana in the middle of the night. She identified the state by the license plates on the convoy of vehicles waiting for them on the tarmac. She was ushered into one, along with two of the Cerberus goons. She didn’t recognize the driver, a big guy with a shaved head and what she assumed were prison tattoos on his neck. He looked like a biker or a recruit from the local Aryan Nations chapter. There were two vans and a larger Ryder truck, each with a pair of White Power dudes, which brought the total size of the Cerberus contingent to fourteen, not counting Tyndareus and Nurse Wretched. The latter pair rode in a different vehicle.