The Lost Throne(137)

“Well,” she said, “since you put it like that, how can a gal resist?”





Apollo knew he was outnumbered. His scout had warned him of that. But the beauty of his plan—which was similar to King Leonidas’s tactic to hold off thousands of Persians in the Battle of Thermopylae—was that he wouldn’t have to fight all his opponents at once. He would wait until their numbers were divided, then he would attack.

Instead of five against three, he would fight them three against three.

Then he would pick off the others when they rushed into the fray.





The gap in the stone face was about three feet wide. During rain-storms, water gushed through the chasm like a waterfall. Over the years, it had smoothed the rock and made it slick. Traction was difficult to find. The angle of the hillside wasn’t particularly steep, so ropes and anchors weren’t needed. Still, in order to climb the fifteen feet to the next ridge, they needed to concentrate.

For a large man, Payne was unbelievably nimble. Most Special Forces officers were small and wiry, soldiers who could run forever and hide in the blink of an eye, yet somehow Payne was able to keep up with them. In fact, he did more than that; he surpassed his peers by matching their agility and endurance and adding a brute strength that none of them possessed.

It was one of the reasons he had been asked to lead the MANIACs.

They were a special group, and Payne was the best of the best.

Using his hands and feet to climb, he scurried up the rock with ease. He dropped his pack on the ridge, and then scanned the nearby trees. With gun raised, he stared into the darkness, listening for the crack of a branch or anything else that seemed out of place.

But the area seemed deserted.

“Let’s go,” he said to his friends, who were waiting down below.

Dial was up second. He grimaced in pain as he used his arms to assist with the climb. Though his ribs were tender to the touch, they weren’t broken and weren’t going to stop him. Ten seconds later, he was crouching next to his friend on top of the ridge.

“Next,” he said to Allison.

She nodded and tucked the gun into her belt, nervous about the task at hand. Unlike the men, who had all been trained in one service academy or another, she had no experience with climbing—unless she counted gym class in junior high. She was in good shape from her frequent jogs around the Stanford campus, but this was something new to her.

Rock climbing in the dark simply wasn’t offered at her local health club.

While Dial stood guard, Payne kept his focus on Allison. In his hands, he held a thick tree limb that he had found nearby on the ground. If she struggled during her ascent, she could grab hold of it, and he could pull her up. “Don’t stop. Just keep moving forward.”

She followed his instructions, churning one leg after the other, using her hands to steady herself against the side of the chasm, never pausing to think. Her foot slipped once on the slick surface, but she maintained her balance with her arms and made it to the top without help.

“That was fun,” she said with a smile.

“I’m glad,” Payne said. “Now stand over there so Marcus can take his turn.”

Allison nodded and shuffled off to the side.

A moment later, the Spartans started their attack.





72




Allison saw the Spartan before anyone else. He burst from the trees, twenty feet away from her. His shield was in one hand, his sword in the other. Since her gun was still tucked in her belt, she did the only thing she could think of. She screamed as loudly as she could.

Payne whirled in her direction and spotted the Spartan who was sprinting at them. Unable to pull his gun in time, Payne stepped in front of Allison and lowered his shoulder, hoping to duck under the Spartan’s shield. A moment before impact, Payne arched his back as if he was going to tackle him. But instead of wrapping his arms, he thrust his shoulders upward, slamming the tree branch that he still held into his opponent’s legs. The force, coupled with the Spartan’s momentum, launched the soldier high into the air and over the edge of the ridge.

Jones, who had heard Allison’s scream, was on full alert when the Spartan took flight. Like a superhero out of control, the Spartan crashed into a nearby tree and landed roughly on the ground as his helmet bounced down the hill.

But Jones showed no sympathy for him.

He stood over him and ended his life with a bullet between the eyes.

Meanwhile, on the ridge above, the other two Spartans charged into battle. Both of them had learned from the hoplite’s mistake, so they approached quickly yet under control. Shields in front of them, swords ready to strike, prepared to fight to the death.

Ready for a challenge, Apollo went after Payne. During the past few minutes, he had watched Payne and knew he was their leader. They were roughly the same size and build, and both of them moved with dexterity. The main difference was in their training.