The Hand of Baal

by Flake Cosmo

When a Phoenician coin mysteriously turns up in the Caribbean, an old friend asks Lara Croft to help him discover how it got there.

The Hand of Baal

A Lara Croft Adventure

by Flake Cosmo

Notice: This story is a work of fiction. Lara Croft and the Tomb Raider games are © and ™ Core Design and EIDOS Interactive. No challenge to these copyrights is intended by this story; this is a non-sanctioned, unofficial work, made free to whoever wishes to read it. This story contains adult language, violence, and horrific elements that some people may find objectionable. If such things would go against your better judgment, please read no further.

(For Those Who Are Interested: this story is set mainly in the waters off the coast of Cuba, in May and June of 1994. With the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s, Eastern-bloc aid to Cuba ended, and Soviet military forces were gradually withdrawn from the island nation. Meanwhile, the United States continued to tighten its sanctions against trade with Cuba. By 1993 no more Soviet troops remained in Cuba. The island's vital sugarcane production dropped to a 30-year low the same year and the situation only worsened in 1994, precipitating economic disaster for the country.)

I would be happy to hear comments or criticism from anyone.

Implacable I, the implacable Sea; implacable most when most I smile serene—pleased, not appeased, by myriad wrecks in me.

Herman Melville

A school of butterfly fish rose up from behind the outcropping of elkhorn coral as Amanda swam by. They circled for a moment around her, catching the sunlight from above on their silvery scales before shooting off on a perpendicular course away from her. Past the outcropping, she dipped down lower. The white, sandy bed was dotted with patches of gorgonia, and sea fans that waved like palm trees in a hurricane. Amanda had never seen so much beautiful sea life before. Her dives thus far, had been limited to freshwater areas, like Tobermory, in her native Canada. This was her first experience open diving in the Caribbean, and she was astonished by the diversity of shapes and colours.

Up ahead, Greg was a dim shape in the aquamarine twilight, a trail of bubbles wandering behind him, looking almost as if they were another school of exotic fish. She wished he would slow down and wait for her. Sometimes he seemed to forget that his experience far outweighed hers when it came to diving.

It had been his idea to take the school break and come down to Cuba. Amanda had been reluctant at first. They'd only started going out together about a month before. Although it was quite appealing to her, she knew the idea of taking off to Cuba with Greg would not go over well with her parents. "Forget them, Amanda," Greg had said. "You're nineteen, you're an adult. They can't control your life anymore. You can make your own decisions." And so she had, despite the predictable response of her parents. But she was glad she had not listened to them. Having only learned to dive the summer before, it was an extraordinary experience, a great adventure, to be swimming in these exotic waters. Besides, it was a chance to get away from parents and friends, a chance for her and Greg to do whatever they wanted to, without others trying to pry into their lives.

She dropped down to the seabed, running her hand through the fine white sand, drawing up small, murky clouds behind her fingers. Up ahead, Greg was receding further into the distance. Damn it, Greg, slow down, she cursed silently in her head. She gave a few strong kicks and propelled herself forward, her hand still trailing along the bottom. She could hear her own breathing as it echoed through the regulator, and swore that she even heard her heart thumping in a steady but slowly increasing beat.

Something small and shiny suddenly caught her eye. She slowed, spinning in the water to reverse her direction, hoping Greg would see what she was doing. She thought it might be just another fish, but something about it had seemed different. She swam around in a slow circle over the area she had just passed. The clouds of sand she had raised with her fingers were just now, slowly starting to settle. And then she saw it. Something small and round and shiny, glinting like a little eye staring up at her from the sea floor on the edge of a large patch of dark gorgonia. It definitely wasn't a fish. Visions of treasure suddenly leapt into her mind; sunken pirate sloops, wrecked Spanish galleons. She sunk slowly, barely kicking with her flippers so as not to stir the bottom up again. She reached out a hand clad in a neoprene glove and grasped the shiny piece of metal in her fingers.

A shiver of excitement coursed through her body. It looked like gold coin! She slipped it into a small pouch on her belt, and then swung gently in the water, searching around for more signs of glittering metal. She could hear her own breathing growing quicker, and her heart thudded hard against her chest.

It was then that she realized that something was wrong. What she was feeling was more than mere excitement. She was feeling a little disoriented, uncertain which direction she had been coming from. She couldn't see Greg either. Dimly, in the back of her head, she remembered something from her diving lessons, something about oxygen narcosis, or "Rapture of the Deep." Could this be what she was experiencing? She looked upwards to the wavering sunlight. She wasn't deep enough for that, she was sure. Or was she? Her mind raced in circles. She kicked her legs, but seemed to go nowhere.

The excitement she'd felt earlier was rapidly beginning to turn into panic, and she had no idea why. Blood throbbed in her temples, and she thought she heard voices; odd, distant voices, whispering to her, whispering inside her. That was impossible. She reached up with shaking hands and clutched her head. Was the sunlight above her or below her?

She suddenly had the sensation of someone, or something, peering into her; something that could see every corner of her soul, knew all her most intimate secrets, and hidden fears. She looked around desperately, searching for the source, but could see nothing. Somehow she knew that, whatever it was, it was impossibly old. It was something that could not possibly be here. A horrible chill swept through her body, shocking her into a scream. The regulator dropped out of her mouth, spraying a cloud of bubbles that swirled crazily around her, wobbling like hundreds of insane jellyfish. Everything spun madly as she choked on the salty water, flailing her arms and legs wildly, her heartbeat now thundering in her ears. The last thing she was aware of was a great shadow drawing over her like a blanket, a shadow that appeared to be a giant hand, its fingers encrusted with coral, trailing seaweed, descending upon her, enveloping and filling her with its darkness, drowning the last fragments of sunlight, washing away her memory and her life.

* * * *

Peter McKay sat up in his bed suddenly, gasping for air. His hair was plastered against his forehead, his sheets damp with sweat. The image of a giant hand reaching down towards him, suffocating him in its shadowy grasp, was just fading from his conscious mind, but it still left him with a confused sense of fear. A nightmare. He let out a slow breath. It had just been a nightmare.

He slipped out of bed and pulled on an old housecoat to cover his nakedness. Walking a little unsteadily into the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water. He stared at the glass, holding it in the palm of his hand. Water. There had been water in his dream too. A lot of water; a whole ocean of it. He upended the glass, drinking it down quickly, so quickly he choked on it. As he sputtered, the glass slipped from his hand, dropping to the floor, shattering at his bare feet.

"Shit."

He stepped carefully away from the sharp fragments, deciding to clean it up in the morning. But instead of going back to his bedroom, he retreated to his study. Sitting back in his brown leather swivel chair, he once again opened the box that had been sent to him by one of his colleagues up in Canada. Cradled in the soft lining inside the box, was a coin. A very old, and very mysterious coin. It had been taken from the body of a young woman, a woman whose death could not be explained. She had died diving in the waters just off of a small island in the Cuban archipelago. But she had not drowned. He tried to envision what had happened in his mind. She had panicked over something, perhaps, but what, he could not say. Yet she made it to the surface. Her boyfriend had managed to get to her, swimming her to the dive boat, only to find once there, that she was dead. But not drowned. There had been no water in her lungs. And no explanation for her death.

Even more inexplicable was the extraordinary coin found in her belt pouch. Peter angled the box to see the small bit of gold in better light. It was impossible. This coin could not have been where it was found. Unless...

He reached out to gently touch it with the tips of his fingers. But the memory of the nightmare suddenly came back into his mind, like a rush of cold water from the deep, and he thought better of it. Closing the box, he retreated to his bedroom once again, to a sleep so utterly dreamless it was almost as if he had died himself.

* * * *

Lara Croft pulled hard on the wheel of her Sigma sailboat, coming about into a strong breeze. The boom swung to starboard, the sail catching the wind, billowing out as the boat hit the next heaving wave head on. Lara grinned as cold, salty water sprayed her. She shook her head to clear the drops from her face. The wind whipped her long, chestnut-coloured ponytail. Around the boat, the sun danced along the edges of the waves, bringing out sharp blues beneath the marching whitecaps.

She was on a southward jibe, just off the southeast coast of her native England, not far from Dover. She turned to survey the coastline, with its magnificent white cliffs rising like a great wall from the ocean. The boat lurched over another wave, more water spraying over the deck. Lara's face, legs, and the surface of her Gortex jacket were already soaked, but she hardly felt the spring cold. The ride was far too exhilarating.

She breathed in the fresh sea air, making a mental note to herself to get away like this more often. Not every adventure had to end in discovering an ancient artifact or lost civilization. Besides, there was something refreshing about not having to dodge bullets at every turn.

She tugged the mainsail in tight, cranking the wheel to take her towards Dover. The sleek hull of the Sigma sliced through the water. Had her ears not been so attuned to listening for any unusual sounds, she might have missed the faint trilling of her portable sat-phone below deck. They can leave a message, she thought. But the trill continued. Lara sighed. She knew she shouldn't have brought the damn thing along.

Locking the wheel in place, she hopped down the hatch into the spacious cabin below. The sat-phone was lying where she'd left it on one of the berths. It trilled insistently at her again.

Tossing her wet hair back from her ear, she flicked the phone open and pressed the receive button. "Lara Croft."

The voice on the other end was a little disrupted, faint sounds echoing and ringing in the background. "Lara? It's..." Hesitation. "Lara it's Peter McKay."

Lara rested her elbow against the upper berth. "Peter? My God, I can't believe you're calling me. How long has it been?"

"Too long," he said, the false confidence in his voice barely concealing his nervousness. "I've had the damnedest time trying to get a hold of you."

Lara slowly climbed up the hatch to the deck again, the sat-phone still at her ear. "Where are you calling from?"

"Miami."

She smiled, amused. "All right Peter, I'll bite. I don't hear from you for five years, and suddenly you're calling me from Florida. What's up?"

"Lara, something extraordinary has happened! An ancient coin came into my possession a few months ago. It's late period Carthaginian, which in itself is a rare find, but here's the remarkable part. It was found in Caribbean waters."

Lara frowned as she unlocked the wheel, taking it with her free hand. "Caribbean? Peter, you know as well as I the Phoenicians never made it to North American waters."

"And that's why it's so extraordinary. You've read the ancient Greek texts of Plato and Diodorus. You know they suggest that the Phoenicians may have traded with North America around 1000 BC."

"But Peter, they didn't have coins in Phoenicia until the fifth century BC, and those were mainly Persian. Carthage didn't start minting coins until 360 BC."

"Well who's to say they didn't return? This may be the proof archaeologists have been looking for, for decades! Imagine it, Lara...the wreck of a Phoenician merchant ship in Caribbean waters."

Lara could make out the buildings and docks of Dover now. She held the phone between her jaw and her shoulder and took the wheel with both hands.

"Still don't know why you're telling me this, Peter. I mean, it's interesting, but why call after five years to tell me. I'm sure I could have read about it later."

Again, the hesitation. The nervousness returned to his voice. "I wanted you to be there when we discovered it."

"I'm flattered that you'd think of me, Peter...but I'm not an archaeologist...not the kind that you are anyway. I'm an explorer. Sifting around in the sand for little bits of pottery just isn't my style."

"I realize that, Lara. But I didn't just want you there to give a helping hand. I need you to co-lead the expedition with me."

Lara started to protest, but Peter cut her off. "Lara, the coin was found in Cuban waters, off a small island called Cayo Romano. The Cuban government won't allow an American expedition into their territory. But they did agree to let us in if it were a joint expedition...say, American/British?"

Lara sighed. Her headsail had lost its luff. She pulled on the sheets, tacking back into the wind. "I'm sure there's more qualified people than me. Why don't you get in touch with some of your old friends from Oxford or Cambridge? I'm sure they'd be delighted to accompany you."

"I, uh...well..."

"Spit it out, Peter."

"All right. I don't exactly want you here for your archaeological skills. I was more interested in having you here for your...other talents."

Lara smiled to herself. "And what talents might those be, Peter?"

Peter laughed a nervous laugh on the other end. "I've read your books, Lara. I know what you're good at. The political situation down here is tense at best. We don't really know how the Cubans are going to react to us. I'd feel a lot better about this if you were here."

Lara sighed again. She was starting to feel the cold, and would have to get out of her wet clothes soon. She'd been looking forward to spending a nice, warm, quiet evening in her favourite Dover pub. She grabbed the phone in her hand again. "I'll think about it, Peter. That's the best I can do for now."

* * * *

The flight to Miami was eight hours long. Lara dozed on the way, at least when she wasn't giving terse responses to the endless monologue of the American tourist sitting in the seat beside her. "That's nice," she would say, "Oh yes, the Tower of London...very interesting," and "Really? I didn't know that about Stonehenge. I'm afraid I'm not much of an ancient history buff."

The American gave her his phone number in Miami before they left the plane, and asked her to call him, so they could go out for drinks together one night. Lara put on a smile for him as he walked away, then crumpled and tossed the piece of paper into the nearest trash container. She glanced around the airport terminal, looking for Peter.

She saw him standing reading the arrivals board, behind customs control. Customs control. Oh, this part was always a pleasure, Lara thought, sarcastically. Bringing restricted weapons through customs usually got someone's back up. She had all the proper papers for them, but she inevitably had to go to secondary questioning to satisfy the paranoid customs officials.

Once through that unpleasantness, she found Peter, now sitting in the lobby reading a brochure on travel in Switzerland. "Lara!" He stood up, a smile spreading across his face; his eyes glancing down then back up again to meet hers. "You...you look fantastic." He took her hands in his for a moment. "It's good to see you again."

"You too, Peter," she said, though he did not look nearly so good. He appeared tired, ragged around the edges, with dark circles under his eyes. He was dressed in navy shorts and a white golf shirt. Lara couldn't help noticing the slight paunch in his abdomen, something that had not been there the last time she had seen him. But that, of course, had been long ago.

At 30, he was four years her senior. Back then he'd been a dashing 25 year old American, doing a Masters in archaeology at a university in Switzerland. Back then, his body had been lean and toned...Lara grinned to herself, remembering.

"Let's go get your luggage and get out of here," Peter said, breaking her momentary reverie into the past.

She nodded, looking at him once again, a slight frown creasing her brow.

* * * *

She'd decided to come for several reasons. First, she did want to see Peter again. Not for any resumed romance, of course, just to see him and find out what his life was like now. She also reasoned it would be a nice vacation in the sun, something different from the coolness of late spring in England. And, she had to admit, she was a little curious about finding a Phoenician ship. Unusual location aside, there had only been two other Phoenician vessels ever discovered, the one at Gelidonya in the sixties, and the Ulu Burun wreck in the early eighties. It would be a tremendous opportunity to search for clues that might lead her on another one of her quests for ancient artifacts.

Some even said that the fabled gold mines of King Solomon might have been in North America. If they did find a Phoenician wreck in Caribbean waters, it would lend a lot of credence to that theory.

The ship they'd be sailing on, the Stella Blue, was a hundred and twelve foot diving charter yacht built in the early seventies. It had been refitted and purchased second hand by the Institute of Marine Archaeology back in the mid-eighties. Hence, not only was it well equipped for marine exploration, but it had many of the comforts of home as well, including personal showers and an excellent galley.

Peter showed Lara to her quarters and gave her time to unpack. She didn't have much. Lara liked to travel lightly. She was already dressed in a tight pair of khaki Bermudas and a light green crop top. Besides a couple of bathing suits, a few changes of clothes and the essential toiletries, all her suitcase contained was a pair of 9mm Uzi submachine guns, two Browning P-35 auto-pistols, and a few boxes of ammunition. These she kept hidden under the clothes. Only Peter knew she'd brought them along, and only Peter would know... unless there was cause to use them.

Moments later, Lara returned to the deck where Peter was arguing with a balding, grey-haired man with a moustache. He wore glasses that were sliding too far down his nose to be useful, and his white shirt, with its sleeves rolled up, was stained with sweat around the armpits. He looked to be about fifty. "Yes, I took a look at her damn books, McKay, but I still think she has no place on this boat. This is a serious scientific archaeological expedition...you're going to turn it into some Steven Speilberg movie with the likes of her onboard. My God, McKay...she doesn't even have an undergrad degree, much less..."

Lara cleared her throat, and the two men turned to look at her. Peter smiled lamely, realizing she had heard the other man. "Uh, Lara...this is Dr. Rudy Fleischman. Rudy's an expert on Phoenician culture."

Lara held out her hand, but Rudy Fleischman just looked at it dumbly for a moment, scowled, then turned and walked away.

"Obviously he's not an expert on human relations," Lara sneered, loud enough for the retreating Fleischman to hear.

Peter leaned in close to her. "Sorry. He can be a little difficult at times. Com'on...I'll introduce you to someone who's considerably more enthusiastic about your presence here." He took Lara up to the computer van, a makeshift cabin built on the upper deck that acted as a master control centre for the operation. It was a dimly lit room full of flickering monitors and humming electronics.

The onboard technician, Marcus Franklin, was a handsome African American in his early twenties; a grad student, Lara learned, at the University of Miami. He obviously worked out a lot. "I've read your books," he said turning around on a swivel chair to meet her gaze. His eyes blazed with a youthful admiration that was almost painfully obvious. "It's fantastic to meet you," he said, taking her hand in his firm grip.

It was refreshing to be admired for her accomplishments, rather than her looks. Marcus, as impressed as he was with Lara, obviously had eyes for the other young woman there. "This is Trudy Castleman," he said, introducing her.

Trudy held out her hand and shook Lara's. "It's nice to meet you Ms. Croft." Trudy had black hair that fell to her shoulders, and dark eyes that flitted about a little nervously. Lara learned that she was the youngest member of the crew, an undergraduate student in archaeology, who was top of her class. Peter believed in giving opportunities to younger students who were deserving of it.

"Trudy will be joining us on the dives," he explained. "Marcus, among other things, will be piloting and monitoring the Nereus, our underwater tow vehicle that will be our eyes on the deep."

"It's a sled equipped with video cameras, side scan sonar, an altimeter, and underwater lights," Marcus explained enthusiastically.

Lara smiled politely. She needed to talk to Peter. She indicated to him that she wished to talk to him alone. Outside, they leaned against the rail, looking out at Miami harbour. The sun was beginning to set over Biscayne Bay, casting the scene in a twilight palette of pinks, purples, and golds. Lara sighed as she stared out at the water. "This is a terrific set-up you have here, Peter." She looked at him, her eyes intense. "What's the real reason you asked me to come along?"

Peter looked a little dumbfounded. "I told you. The political situation. I thought—"

Lara shook her head. "You're not talking to the approvals committee here, Peter."

Peter nodded, his face cast in shadows. "I could never hide anything from you, could I? I'm..." he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, "concerned. One person has already died, Lara. I don't want—"

"Died? Who died?"

"A girl...a Canadian tourist. The one who found the coin. Her boyfriend pulled her from the water and tried to revive her, but it was too late. It appeared as if she'd suffered some form of dehydration. He couldn't explain how it happened. Lara, there's more going on here than meets the eye. I...I can't quite place my finger on it...it's just a feeling." He reached out and put his hand on her arm. "Lara, I need you here. I don't care what Fleischman says. He's looking at this through the eyes of a scientist, pure and simple. But the fact remains that there's no clear explanation as to how that girl died."

"What are you suggesting?"

Peter turned away, his hand leaving her arm, his gaze drifting back out towards the bay. "I don't know, Lara. I don't know."

* * * *

The Stella Blue left the following morning, heading on a southwest course down across the Grand Bahama Bank, towards the northern coast of Cuba. Marcus already had the Nereus in the water, running diagnostics and setting calibrations. The sled was towed along behind the boat, while Marcus occasionally gave it course corrections and watched the datalogger for interesting tidbits of information.

Lara saw little of Rudy Fleischman. The older scientist kept largely to himself, spending his time below deck doing who knew what. For her part, Lara used it as a chance to relax, catch a little sun, and brush up on oceanography and Phoenician culture. In the afternoon sun, she reclined in a deck chair on the fore deck in her black bikini and Coyote copper lens sunglasses, flipping through a well-worn text on Phoenician religious practices.

A shadow fell over her suddenly. Lara looked up into the eyes of a woman wearing tan Bermuda shorts, and a white Miami University T-shirt. "You must be Lara Croft," she said, holding her hand out. "I'm Eleanor Michaels, the team's conservator." Lara sat up, taking the woman's hand firmly. Eleanor was in her mid to late thirties, a little slighter build than Lara, with dirty blond hair cut to her cheekbones.

"It's nice to meet you," Lara said.

* * * *

Peter leaned against the railing and watched Lara and Eleanor chatting from the upper deck. He had never forgotten his time with Lara in Switzerland. But with several other girlfriends, a marriage and a divorce well behind him, he'd never imagined he could still have the feelings he'd had for her back then. But even though they were together, here and now, on this expedition, they still seemed worlds apart. He questioned if she could still see in him what he saw in her. Peter had an unsettling feeling in his stomach. He wondered if it were the thought of never affecting Lara again the way he used to, or whether it was something else.

* * * *

When they reached the search area, the sun was curled up on the horizon, readying itself for a night of starlit slumber. An official boat from the Cuban government met them at dusk, its lights shining eerily across the dark waters. A broodingly handsome man in his mid-thirties boarded, followed by two armed soldiers. The man was dressed in light coloured slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt, with a thin black tie around his neck. His dark hair was long, but neat, slightly receded, tied back in a ponytail, his beard and moustache trimmed to a fine goatee. He held a slim black briefcase in his hand. One of the soldiers set another larger case down near the man's feet.

"Dr. Peter McKay?" he asked, his voice rich with Spanish accent.

Peter, Lara, Dr. Fleischman, and Marcus had all come to meet the visitors. "Yes, I'm Dr. McKay. An you are...?"

The Cuban smiled, though his two armed guards did not. "Dr. Jésus Santiago..." He pronounced his name 'hay-zoos'. "...from the National Museum in Havana. The government of my country has asked me to be its representative on this expedition."

Lara couldn't help noticing Peter's surprise, though not, it seemed, at the fact that the government wanted a representative on board. "Dr. Santiago," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Your reputation precedes you."

Santiago smiled and nodded gracefully. "Then I'm sure you won't mind my joining your crew."

"Of course not." Peter shook the Cuban's hand. Santiago nodded to the two soldiers who quickly disembarked. The Cuban boat slid off into the night towards the flickering lights of the island in the distance.

"Come...we'll have quarters prepared for you immediately."

As Rudy Fleischman began to chat amiably with Santiago, Lara sidled up next to Peter, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "You seemed surprised to see him here."

Peter looked at her. "No, not in that sense. I knew the Cuban government would be sending a representative. It's standard procedure. And I knew it would likely be Santiago. I just...I just expected him to be a little older, that's all."

Lara brushed her finger thoughtfully over her lips, but said nothing more.

* * * *

The morning began early for Marcus. The sun was pale, the sea a myriad different shades of aquamarine. Marcus grinned as he watched the Nereus being lowered into the water with the winch crane at the stern of the Stella Blue. Wearing only a pair of swim trunks, he slipped down into the lapping surf himself, to make a few last minor adjustments to the sled's controls. Attaching the towing cables to the sled's superstructure, he gave the man operating the crane the thumbs up. The crane operator and onboard mechanic, Fred Parks, signalled to show he understood, and proceeded to detach the sled from the crane's cables.

Lara was strolling along the starboard deck, keeping an eye on what Marcus was doing, but also watching Santiago, who was having an animated conversation with Rudy Fleischman. "Lara!" Marcus called out as he climbed back up on the deck. "How'd you like to come up to the control room and see what our eyes on the deep are seeing?"

Lara smiled and waved back an affirmative to him. Taking one last glance back at Santiago and Fleischman, she grabbed the ladder and started to climb to the upper deck.

The search pattern was an angular spiral, expanding outwards from the point believed to be where the coin had been found. Lara met a still dripping Marcus in master control. Eleanor was also there, programming the data-logger to begin gathering information. Marcus called up to Captain Tony Yates to begin the search pattern he'd laid out on the charts. The boat's engines fired up, and the vessel began to move slowly through the Caribbean waters. Marcus switched all the monitors in the control room on. They flickered to life, showing four separate views from Nereus' video cameras; views of a twilight blue world of wavering sea plants, pale coral, and dark schools of quick moving fish. Marcus made some fine tuning adjustments to the cameras to focus on the seabed.

"What are we looking for?" Lara asked.

"Anything unusual...anything that seems out of place. We can photograph it and the datalogger will automatically record our position relative to an array of sonar transponders that were dropped on the perimeter of the search area. If we pick up nothing, we haul the transponders up, and expand the search."

Marcus pointed suddenly towards one of the monitors. Lara saw something fluttering on the seabed, kicking up white sand into expanding clouds as it moved along near the ocean floor. "Stingray," said Marcus. "Fairly large too...looks like about four and half feet." Blue spots dotted its fan-like fins. Lara watched, fascinated.

Further on, a dark shape slid across one of the monitors. As it rose into view, sunlight glinted off its silvery scales. "A barracuda," Lara said softly, watching the predator as it angled downwards again, searching for food.

"All sorts of critters down there," Marcus mused. "'Course most of 'em won't bother you if you don't bother them. Though they're probably more than a little curious about the sled." He chuckled to himself, as if recalling a joke only he and the fish understood.

The morning dragged on with little else happening. Lara sipped on a cup of Earl Grey tea as she watched the monitors. Both Fleischman and Santiago made brief appearances, Fleischman only grunting when he saw Lara, and turning to quickly leave. Santiago at least stayed for a few minutes to stare at the monitors, nodding silently to himself.

It was nearly 11 am before Peter came into the control room. He told Marcus and Eleanor to take a break. When they'd left, he sat in Marcus' chair and swivelled to look at Lara. "How're you doing?" he asked.

"Truth?" she said to him wryly. "Bored out of my skull."

Peter let out a loud laugh. "I guess it's not your idea of archaeology, is it?"

"I'm more of a hands-on type myself."

Peter scratched the back of his neck. "If we find anything, you want to dive with us?"

Lara's eyes widened a little. "I'm not bloody well going to sit up here watching you have all the fun, am I?"

He laughed again, and then sighed. He looked at the floor. "Do you ever think about us, Lara?"

Lara crossed her arms under her breasts, trying to gauge his question. She decided on the safe answer. "Of course...how could I forget what happened between us?"

Peter sniffed, unable to meet her eyes. "I was...more thinking of us in the present tense."

Lara leaned back in her chair, glancing at the monitors. "There is no us in the present tense, Peter, aside from our professional relationship, and perhaps a rediscovered friendship. I'm a very different person from the girl you knew five years ago."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. "And you're very different too."

"I...I always regretted letting you go, Lara."

"You had to, Peter. You knew I was supposed to be marrying the Earl of Farringdon when I returned from Switzerland, as per my parent's wishes."

"So what was I then?"

She looked at him thoughtfully. "An early rebellion. A wonderful rebellion, but a rebellion, nonetheless...one I knew I'd have to give up sooner or later."

"Yet you never stopped rebelling. You rejected everything your family wanted for you, Lara, including the Earl of Farrington."

"Things changed for me, you know that. Peter, if you hadn't let me go, you would have been on that plane with me. You would have been dead now. We wouldn't even be having this conversation." Lara's mind flashed briefly back to the terrifying plane crash in the Himalayas that had changed her life forever, a crash of which she'd been the only survivor.

Peter saw the ghost of it in her eyes and decided to drop the subject. She was right. They were worlds apart now. Still, he couldn't help hoping that maybe—

"What was that?"

"Huh?" Peter looked up. Lara was pointing at one of the monitors. "Get Marcus back in here. I think I saw something."

At the sound of his name, Marcus rushed back into the control room. He called up to the captain to bring the boat around and pass over the same area again. All three watched the monitors intently. Eleanor came in behind them and joined the vigil. "There," Lara said suddenly, her fingertips touching the glass of the monitor. Marcus tapped his keyboard, snapping a photograph as the datalogger recorded the position. As the boat moved on past the potential sighting, Marcus struck a few more keys. The high-resolution colour printer on the table next to the monitors whirred to life, spitting out a copy of the photograph.

Marcus snapped it up, grabbing the arm of the adjustable lamp to bring the light over. Lara, Eleanor, and Peter all gathered around. "God damn it, it looks like she's got something here." Marcus handed the printout to Peter. "Wha'd'ya think?"

Peter examined the picture closely. "If I'm not mistaking, I'd say it looks like the outline of an amphora." Marcus and Eleanor could not suppress grins. Peter was grinning as well. "See, I told you we needed Lara Croft on this expedition."

* * * *

Amphorae were the all-purpose transport containers of the ancient Mediterranean. Long in shape, with two handles and tapering bottoms, they were used to transport everything from dyes and lime to wine, olive oil, and other food supplies. They were easy to balance and carry, and even easier to stack row on row in ships carrying them to distant ports. They were often the first thing found in early shipwrecks, simply because there were so many of them, but none had ever been found in North American waters.

Peter wasn't sure if what they were seeing was an amphora or not, but as far as he was concerned, it was worth diving to check out. When Fleischman saw the photo, he agreed, grunting when Peter told him it was Lara who'd made the sighting.

* * * *

The deeper you descend, the more colours of light are absorbed by the water. At sixty feet, all the reds, oranges, and yellows are gone, leaving you swimming in a strange, blue-green world of swaying sea plants and dark fish. Lara kicked forward, swimming up alongside Peter. Together, they approached the area where Lara had sighted a possible artifact. Bubbles from their regulators spiralled towards the surface. Peter shone an underwater halogen on an area thick with gorgonia. Lara began to brush the sand away with her hand. The edges of the object they'd seen on the video began to grow more distinct. It was an amphora! It was broken, but its shape was unmistakable. Peter helped her to lift the pieces out of the sand into a nylon mesh sack attached to a rope. A quick tug on the rope told Marcus, who was on the ship above, to pull it up. Trailing thin streams of sand and bubbles, it rose through the water, Peter and Lara following close behind.

They broke the surface as Marcus was hauling the sack over the edge. Lara followed Peter up the ladder. They kicked off their flippers, pulled off their masks and regulators, and removed their tanks, buoyancy compensators, and wet suits.

Eleanor had prepared a pool with running water to put the artifacts in, and Marcus was helping her remove the pieces of pottery from the sack when Peter and Lara joined them. Fleischman, Santiago, and the others watched with curiosity.

Peter was bubbling over with enthusiasm at the find. "Look at that! I told you! Nothing like this has ever been found on this side of the Atlantic! This is incredible!"

Dr. Fleischman knelt down beside him, turning one of the pieces over in the pool's running water. "Remarkable," was all he said, but his eyes too were alight with excitement. Only Santiago seemed somewhat indifferent. Lara couldn't help noticing his rather stoic expression, but kept it to herself. After all, she was feeling the same thrill as the others were, perhaps for entirely less academic reasons, but she was thrilled nonetheless.

They celebrated with bottle of champagne over a late lunch made by Marcus: sweet corn bread, and a huge steaming pot of callalo, with crab, okra, onions and other tasty ingredients. But by the end of lunch, Marcus' mind was off cooking and on diving. He and Fred Parks, along with Trudy Castleman, took the next dive to search for more artifacts and begin the painstaking process of mapping out the site. "It's not as hard as it used to be," Peter told Lara up in the computer van. "We have all this modern technology to help us out now. Instead of pencil and paper maps, we do everything on a three dimensional computer model." He showed Lara the start of the map, pointing out the position of the first amphora the two of them had found.

Peter watched her as she studied the map. Still in her bathing suit, with her hair tied back in a long ponytail, he didn't think she'd ever looked more attractive. Must be the excitement of the discovery, he thought. But he knew better. Impulsively, he leaned over and gave her kiss. It wasn't a long or deep kiss, not at all like the passion they had once shared, long ago. But he couldn't help himself.

"What was that for?" Lara suddenly said, her eyes meeting his. She noticed then that the dark circles and haggard look he'd had when she'd met him at the airport were gone.

"Just a thank you," Peter said. "For helping make this happen."

* * * *

In the days that followed, more artifacts surfaced, many of them encrusted with coral or the sediment of time. Fragments of amphorae were plentiful, as well as bits of worked metal. Lara found a cup, and what was probably a pot, small items to be sure, but everyone felt as if they were just scratching the surface. Eleanor carefully tagged and catalogued each item as they came onboard, and entered the data into the computer to add to the ever-growing detail on the site map.

Evenings were filled with discussion of the day's finds and what lay ahead the next day while Rudy Fleischman studied the pieces that had been catalogued, making extensive notes in his little book.

On the fourth evening, Lara found Peter alone in the computer van, flipping through the pages of a well-worn text. For the first time in days, his expression of boyish enthusiasm had faded, to be replaced with a thoughtful look of concern.

"What's wrong?"

"Hmm?" Peter looked up, obviously having not heard her come in. The low lights in the room etched a shadowy frown on his face.

Lara took a seat nearby, leaning back in it. "You look as if something were bothering you."

"Oh..uh...no, nothing," he said, closing the book he'd been reading. "Just tired I guess." He managed a lame smile that was not at all reassuring.

Lara leaned forward, looking him in the eyes. "You were never able to lie to me, Peter. You know that. If something's wrong, I need to know. That's why you wanted me on this expedition in the first place, was it not?"

Peter sighed. His fingers ran around the rim of a cup of coffee that had gone cold long ago. "I was just reading a paper Santiago wrote."

"In the book there?"

He nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"Come on Peter, spit it out. What was in the paper that's got you upset?"

He chuckled a little. "Oh...nothing in the paper...it's just that...well, these were all papers presented at the World Archaeological Symposium..." He looked down at the book again, then back up at Lara. "In 1972."

Lara shrugged.

"How old would you say Dr. Santiago is? Thirty-four? Let's say thirty-five. Which means he wrote a paper on the ships of the New Spain flota in 18th century Havana...when he was eight years old?"

Lara frowned. "Perhaps the Santiago you know by reputation had a son. Is that possible?"

Peter shrugged. "Possible, I guess. Not that I've ever heard of him having one though."

"Let me see," Lara said, holding her hand out. Peter gave her the book and she flipped through its pages to Santiago's paper. She looked at it thoughtfully, and then riffled through the other pages, stopping at another paper that caught her eye. "Hmmm," she mused. "Rudy Fleischman had a paper in here too."

Peter laughed. "Well he's old enough to have had one. And I've no doubt that that's Rudy down there in the hold examining every artifact in detail."

Lara ignored his response. "It proposes a theory that King Solomon's fabled gold mines may have been in ancient Central America. I didn't know that was his theory."

"Originally, yes. Rudy was a bit of a maverick in his younger days, but he was one of the leading exponents of Phoenician contact with the Americas. That's why I wanted him along on this expedition."

Lara frowned suddenly. "If Fleischman and Santiago both presented papers at the 1972 symposium, would they not have met?"

Peter shrugged again. "Presumably...but not necessarily. It's a weeklong symposium. They may have presented on different days and never actually met each other. But we know already that it's not Santiago...it can't be."

"I was just wondering if Fleischman might have the same suspicions we do."

"Do you want me to ask him?"

Lara closed her eyes for a moment, and then looked back at Peter. "No. Leave this to me. I'll look into it."

* * * *

The following day, Marcus, Peter, and Trudy were all diving, with Fleischman and Santiago watching closely. Most of the surface artifacts had been gathered, and they were now beginning to probe deeper. While Trudy scanned the target area with a metal detector, Marcus and Peter used long metal rods to probe the sand for larger parts of the wreck that may be hidden beneath.

Lara took the opportunity to do a little digging beneath the surface herself, but hers was of a different kind altogether. Glancing up and down the hall to make sure that there was no one in sight, she crouched in front of the door to Santiago's quarters. She felt like she should be dressed in something darker and tighter, but if anyone were to enter the hall it would only make her stand out more. The navy shorts and black T-shirt were fine. She deftly picked the lock, opened the door and slipped inside.

Santiago's room was immaculate. Checking his drawers, she found his spare clothes neatly folded and put away. Nothing unusual, just very meticulous. His toiletries were the same, placed evenly and methodically along the sink by his shower stall. His bed was neatly made, a single book resting on the bedside table, a text on Mediterranean archaeology. The open closet was empty. She'd seen him bring a large suitcase and a small briefcase onboard. They had to be around somewhere.

Lara crouched down on the floor, and bent, looking under the bed. There they were! She pulled the large case out first. Predictably, it was largely empty. He'd no doubt carried his clothes and toiletries onboard in it. She felt around the edges, coming across something solid in a side pocket. Peeling the Velcro aside, she opened it. It was a short wave radio. Very small and compact, but she recognized what it was immediately. Two way, by the look of it.

She slipped it back in and shoved the suitcase under the bed again, this time pulling out the smaller briefcase. She had to pick the lock on it, which took a few minutes. She froze for a moment when she heard someone passing by outside in the hallway, but they didn't slow down, and were soon gone. Carefully, she opened the briefcase. Inside, its parts lying snug in moulded foam, was a disassembled Kalashnikov AK-47 Assault rifle. Definitely not standard equipment for your average archaeologist. But it was the handgun that really got her attention. She'd not seen too many of its type before. She was about to take a closer look when she heard footsteps outside again. Then she heard a key being inserted into the lock.

Slapping the briefcase shut and scooting it under the bed, Lara spun quickly, pulling the shower door open and stepping inside. She just managed to pull the shower door closed as the door to the Santiago's cabin opened. She pressed herself back into the shower stall, fully aware that if Santiago looked in her direction, he could probably see her.

He entered the room in a hurry, crossing over to his bed. Lara held her breath. One knee on the bed, Santiago reached across and grabbed the book off his bedside table. Lara remained motionless. Santiago stood up again, hesitated for only a moment, and then hurried out, closing the cabin door behind him.

Lara let her breath out, and rubbed her face with her hands. That had been too close. Slipping out of the shower stall, she headed straight for the door, cracking it open and peering out into the hall to make sure Santiago was truly gone before she eased out herself. The door clicked softly behind her. She could hear voices in the distance. Some kind of excitement out on the deck. Whatever was going on, it must have been why Santiago had been in such a hurry.

Trotting down the hallway, she made her way out onto the deck. The sun was high in the afternoon sky, bright and blinding against a stark, cloudless, blue backdrop. Peter was climbing up onto the deck, water running off his body in thin streams. He was waving excitedly, tearing off his mask and regulator.

"We've found something really big!" he said, seeing Lara coming towards them. Santiago regarded her momentarily, while Fleischman ignored her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Not sure, but Eleanor should be constructing a model of it on the computer screen right now." The entire group headed en masse to the computer van. They all gathered around Eleanor's computer. The modeling program had taken the measurements that Peter and Marcus had made with the metal rods and reconstructed the outline of the object in three dimensions. To Lara, it appeared to be a large sphere, maybe two metres in diameter, with some kind of nodule at one end.

"A dolium, perhaps?" Fleischman conjectured.

Peter was nodding.

"What is that?" asked Santiago.

"Very large transport container," explained Peter, still staring at the screen. "A very rare find if that's what it is. Used mainly in the 1st century BC and 1st century AD. Had the capacity of about 75 amphorae."

"Well we won't know for sure till we get it up," said Eleanor.

Peter was still nodding. "Better suit up, Lara. We'll need your help with this one."

* * * *

Lara hurried to her cabin to change into her bathing suit. Before she did, she pulled her Browning auto pistols out and put them in a concealed, but easy to reach location. Just in case, she thought. She undressed quickly and slipped into her swimsuit, hurrying back out onto the deck. Peter was ready to help her put on her diving gear. Within minutes, they were in the water with Marcus and Trudy, both of whom had been waiting quite impatiently.

Fred Parks lowered the crane's cables to the rocking waves below where Marcus grabbed them in his strong hands. There was a thick nylon harness attached to the end of them. He dove quickly, the others following behind him. Trails of bubbles lead down into the murky blue depths. Lara saw Peter's halogen flicker on, shining through the gloom as they descended.

Lara swam in to help Marcus with the harness while Peter and Trudy grabbed suction dredges. The two of them moved in and began to suck the excess sand and broken coral away from the area where the object was lying. As its dark shape began to be revealed, Lara and Marcus looped the harness around it.

It took a while, but finally Marcus gave Lara the thumbs up sign. Lara pushed off the bottom and swam for the surface, breaking into the bright sunlight amidst choppy waves. She signalled to Fred who was manning the crane. He nodded and started the winch. Lara dove down again, meeting the others who were swimming around the object, steadying it as it rose upwards, trailing bits of coral, sea plants, and sand behind it. Underwater, the object looked enormous, and although it was big, Lara knew everything appeared about 25% larger beneath the waves due to light refraction. Its surface was hard and cold, and when Lara touched it, she felt strange shivers dance electrically through her body. There was something unique about it, though she could hardly guess what. It was just something she felt. Call it Lara's intuition.

They hoisted the object up onto the deck. Fred, Dr. Fleischman, and Dr. Santiago scrambled to secure it. Marcus and Trudy had already risen to the surface to help. Peter had swum back down in the depression left by the artifact. He was sifting through the swirling sand. Lara dove back down to see what he was looking at. He reached down into the murky plumes of sand and organic sediment and pulled up something small and shiny. He held it up for Lara to see, grinning around his regulator. It looked like another coin. Lara pointed up towards the surface. Peter nodded and followed her upwards.

Everyone on deck was already examining the large object, which was exactly what Fleischman had guessed it was from the computer model: an extremely well preserved dolium. And extreme was an understatement. Lara could see before she even got her mask off that beneath the encrustation, the surface of the container was still smooth, and even bore the designs the maker had painted on it. It was also sealed with a large stopper that seemed to still be firmly in place.

Eleanor was running her fingers over the surface. "This is incredible! There's hardly any decay at all. I mean, pottery can survive a long time underwater, but this...this looks like it was made yesterday. Fleischman and Santiago were still carefully scraping sediment away from its surface, but Lara had to agree...it almost looked brand new.

Peter came over to take a closer look. The dolium was turned on its side, and Eleanor pointed to the edge of the stopper. "My God, Peter, look at this. The stopper is still sealed with resin."

Peter leaned in for a better look. "Incredible. I know some amphorae are still occasionally found sealed with resin. But I've never heard of anything this big being found like that before."

Lara stepped over the discarded diving gear and came in for a closer look. Her interest was more in the designs that adorned the surface. "Peter, look at these." Peter stepped back away from the stopper to look. "Stylized trees of lightning bolts," said Lara. "The traditional symbol of the Phoenician god Baal."

Peter leaned in close to examine the marks Lara was pointing at. "You're right. Now that's not something I've ever heard of before. Why would there be religious markings on a dolium?"

Lara felt another shiver course up her spine. "Baal was the principle god of the Phoenicians. They sacrificed untold numbers of human infants in his name. Maybe this container has something other than wine in it."

Everyone stopped, the grim thought sinking in. Peter was the first to let his professional attitude take over again. "Only one way to find out," he said. "Do you think it's safe to pull the stopper, Eleanor?"

The conservator frowned. "I'd rather not, just yet. The high degree of preservation is puzzling me. I'd like to examine the encrusted sediment a little before we open it, just to make sure we're not dealing with some kind of hoax here."

Everyone looked disappointed, but Peter nodded knowing she was right.

"Just give me a few hours with it," Eleanor said, "then I'll have a better idea of what we're dealing with."

* * * *

Eleanor carefully removed some of the coral and sediment that had become encrusted on the dolium. If this was a fake, it was a damn good one. You could fake an artifact using ancient materials, but it was pretty much impossible to fake coral growth. Carefully, she scraped a sample of the resin into a plastic container. It could be sent back to Miami for carbon dating.

She was about to take a closer look at the corrosion on the sides of the dolium when she sensed someone come up behind her. A shadow fell across her back and she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Still crouching at the side of the dolium, she pivoted on her feet to see who it was, but there was no one there.

Eleanor frowned and looked around. No one else was nearby. She looked down towards the stern of the ship and saw the others relaxing, chatting amongst themselves, a couple of them playing cards. She touched her shoulder where she was sure someone else had touched her just a moment before. A faint trace of residue clung to her shirt. She sniffed it from the tips of her fingers and smelled decay. A shiver danced up her spine, making her feel suddenly cold, even in the warm sunshine. Glancing around once more, and seeing nothing, she tried to put it out of her mind by going back to work on the dolium.

* * * *

"I'm just as curious as any of you to see what's inside," Eleanor said to the reassembled group, "but I still think we should get it back to the mainland for proper study before opening it."

Peter stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Ordinarily I'd agree with you, but I'm concerned that whatever's in there might be damaged during transport. This isn't a little sealed amphora we're talking about here, Eleanor. I think we need to take the chance and open it now, so that whatever's inside can be properly conserved."

Eleanor nodded. "You do have a point."

Rudy Fleischman suddenly broke into the discussion. "Well I'm all for opening it." Considering his rather conservative approach to archaeology, Lara was a little surprised at his enthusiasm.

"What about you, Lara?" Peter asked. "What's your opinion?"

Lara smiled. "I was never one to wait for anything."

Eleanor looked from Lara to Peter. She turned to her tool kit and pulled out a fine chisel. "All right then. Let's take a look inside."

She began to work out the resin around the edges of the stopper. As she made the full circle, Lara and Peter moved in, grabbing the stopper on either side, and began to carefully pull it out. The seal gave way with a hollow hiss, as if the container were taking its first breath in two thousand years. Stone grated deeply against stone. The stopper was heavy coming out. They lowered it to the deck with a dull clank. Fleischman butted his way in excitedly, wanting to be the first to see what was inside. He fished a small penlight from his pocket and flicked it on, leaning over the lip of the dolium and peering in. He was silent for long moments.

"Well?" Peter asked impatiently.

They could all smell a stale odour that was hanging around them, air that had remained undisturbed for over two thousand years. Rudy Fleischman's eyes narrowed. "Interesting," he began to say, but then suddenly gasped, lunging away from the dolium as if pushed by some invisible hand. He fell to the deck. Peter and Dr. Santiago moved in quickly to help him to his feet. A look of sheer terror was painted across Fleischman's face. He was practically wild-eyed. "What, Rudy? What the hell was it?"

Through trembling lips he blurted out, "S-something...in...th-there...moved."

Peter left Fleischman to Santiago. He joined Lara who was already at the lip of the opening. He took out his underwater light and shone it into the dolium. Both he and Lara peered in through the opening. Peter cast the light around the smooth interior. He looked at Lara, puzzled. "It's empty. Absolutely empty."

Fleischman stumbled forward, grabbing Peter's bare arm. "No! There was something in there, I tell you! Something moving!"

"I think you're letting your imagination get carried away, Rudy. Look for yourself. There's nothing in there. Nothing at all." He shone the light back into the dolium for emphasis, but Fleischman refused to look in again.

* * * *

Lara leaned back into the stream of warm water pouring from the shower nozzle. She drew the soap in lazy circles over her body, washing the salt from her skin and hair, while her mind mused on the events of earlier that day. She couldn't help wondering if Fleischman had really seen something or not. At any rate, he refused to talk about it, especially to her. Peter reasoned that he'd just seen the shadows moving when he shone his flashlight inside the dolium, but Lara wasn't entirely sure. She still had a feeling about this. She couldn't shake one burning question from her mind: why would anyone put an airtight seal on an empty dolium?

As she was working shampoo into her hair, she suddenly remembered the small object Peter had found after they'd pulled the dolium out. It had looked like a coin. She would have to ask him about it. Coins were often invaluable in dating wrecks like these. The one coin that had already been found, the coin the dead girl had carried, had been dated to 170 BC, so it was a good indicator. Another coin would make the guess even more accurate.

She rinsed the soapy lather from her hair, and was trying to decide what she was going to do between now and supper when a noise startled her from her thoughts. She turned slowly under the shower. Steam had fogged up the glass of the shower door, but she could see enough movement to know someone was in her room. She was glad now that she'd pulled her Brownings out earlier.

Leaving the shower running, she carefully placed her hand on the door handle, waiting till it appeared as if the figure had its back to her. Pushing the handle hard, Lara burst through the door, and rolled quickly, right up under the place where she'd concealed her pistols. They were both in her hands and trained on Santiago before he'd even fully turned around. "Let me guess," she snarled. "You finished your book and you're looking for something else to read?"

Santiago straightened up slowly, a brief look of surprise having been replaced with one of cool confidence. "Just a friendly visit to get to know you a little better. After all, you paid me the same courtesy, it was only fair that I should return it." He took a few slow steps across the room. Lara followed him with her Brownings.

"You don't fool me for a moment, Santiago. What kind of an archaeologist carries automatic weapons around with him?"

Santiago smiled smoothly. Lara had to admit the man had a great deal of charisma and physical appeal. He glanced down at the guns in her hands. "What kind of archaeologist indeed?"

Lara sneered, but it turned into a grin of admiration. "Touché. Still...I never pretended to be anything I wasn't."

"Oh really, Ms. Croft? The application received by my government says you're an 'archaeological observer based in England, with a specialty in ancient artifacts'. Nothing of your background, or credentials...and definitely no mention of automatic weapons. Do you realize if my government knew anything about you, this entire expedition would be—"

Lara noticed Santiago's eyes had been slowly roaming down her naked body as he spoke. "Throw me my robe," she said suddenly, cutting his little speech off, "or I'll put two bullets through your head, one through each eye."

Santiago chuckled, failing to be intimidated. Nevertheless, he reached around, grabbed a white terrycloth bathrobe off the bed and tossed it to her. Lara shrugged it on quickly, tying it at her waist, at least one pistol always aimed at Santiago's head.

"Why are you onboard here, Santiago?"

"Simply to ensure that valuable artifacts are treated with respect and that Cuban archaeological interests are represented."

Lara sneered at him again. "If that were true, they would have sent the real Jésus Santiago. Not a cheap knock-off like you."

Santiago moved in close to her, till his face was only inches from hers. He seemed heedless of the fact that the barrel of her gun was now resting against his chest. "You have no idea what is going on here, Ms. Croft, and to be quite frank with you, it is none of your business. Do not meddle in affairs that have nothing to do with you. One word to my government about what you really are, and you will be arrested without question. And Ms. Croft, you definitely do not want to be arrested by the Cuban government. Do I make myself understood?"

Lara's eyes narrowed to thin slits. "Perfectly."

* * * *

That evening, after a dinner of lobsters that Marcus had caught (a dinner that Santiago failed to attend), Lara found Peter alone in the computer van again. "Is this where you go to get away from it all?

Peter chuckled. "Look at this, Lara." He tossed her a small object. She caught it with one hand and looked at it. It was the coin he'd found, a coin of Carthaginian minting. "I checked it with my books. The coin is probably from about 150 BC."

Lara looked thoughtful. "Just a year before Rome laid its final siege against Carthage."

Peter nodded. "After the second Punic war there was little left of the great empire that was once Phoenicia. Carthage was the last stronghold when the Romans invaded in 149 BC. The siege lasted almost three years, till the few remaining survivors, starving and hopeless, barricaded themselves inside one of their temples and set it on fire, burning themselves alive."

Lara turned the worn coin over in her fingers. "The sailors of this ship must have been refugees that escaped."

Peter stroked his chin, his eyes taking on a haunted glaze, as if he'd actually been there and was remembering. "They followed an ancient course, one laid out by their ancestors nearly 900 years earlier; a course to a distant, lost land." He looked over to Lara. "Do you think it really could have been the land that they called Ophir? The land where King Solomon's mines were said to be?"

Lara shrugged. "I can't really say for sure, but they must have never reached it. They were destroyed by the hand of their god."

Peter frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The images on the dolium. Remember I said they were symbols of the god Baal? He was the god of storms. They must have prayed fervently to him in those last moments. But with no sacrifice to give to him, he took their lives instead, sending them to a watery grave."

They were both silent for a moment, contemplating the grim end to what may have been the last survivors of the Phoenician empire. Finally Lara looked up from the floor of the computer van and said, "I think we may have a problem with Santiago."

Peter snapped back to the present. "What?"

"You were right about him. He's not the Santiago you know. He's probably not even an archaeologist. I found a Kalashnikov in his room, hidden under his bed."

"A what?" Peter asked, frowning again.

"AK-47. An assault rifle. But that's not what surprised me. It was his pistol. A 9mm Makarov. It used to be standard issue to all Eastern Bloc operatives."

"You're losing me, Lara. What are you trying to say?"

Lara looked at him, her eyes narrow, her face catching the shadows in the dimly lit room. "I think this fellow is DGI."

"DGI?" Peter frowned. "What's that?"

"Direccion General de la Inteligencia. Castro's intelligence agency. They were trained and supplied by the Soviets during the cold war." She raised her eyebrows slightly. "They're sort of a Caribbean KGB."

* * * *

Lara knew that Peter was out of his league. In fact, he was completely out of his realm. He was an academic after all. He'd said as much to her before she had gone off to bed. He'd left it for her to deal with, but even she was a little out of her league. There was a political situation here that required a little more finesse than what she was used to using.

The ship lights from outside shone eerily through her cabin porthole. Lying naked, alone in her cabin, the single sheet draped loosely over her midriff, she pondered the situation. Santiago and Fleischman had taken almost immediately to each other. Was there a connection? Certainly if Fleischman had met Santiago in '72, he would have known that this wasn't the real archaeologist from Havana. But she couldn't be sure that Fleischman had ever met the Cuban before. There was definitely something fishy about it all, though, and she felt she could not trust Fleischman. And what was with his odd behaviour after they opened the dolium?

She tossed restlessly, the sounds of the water lapping against the hull of the boat neither comforting her, nor lulling her to sleep. Peter himself was another problem. She could sense that he was still attracted to her. She was used to men falling for her, it came with the territory of looking the way she did, but most men she found easy to brush off. Peter was different, probably because they had once been lovers. She felt none of that for him anymore, but she still considered him a friend. She hated the thought of hurting him, but she knew it was going to happen eventually. She could face down a ruthless killer with a gun pointed straight at her face, but emotions of these sorts weren't so easy for her to deal with.

Lara curled up slowly, drawing the sheet around her. When she finally did fall asleep, her dreams were disturbing dreams. Something watched her from the very edges of her mind...something that smiled wickedly to itself in the darkness.

* * * *

It had been over three years since Ben had fallen to his death while rock climbing in Nevada. But in Eleanor's dream, he was still alive and it was as if no time had passed. They were surrounded in a hazy, silky comfort, the honey coloured sunlight of a late morning long since past, pouring in between cloudy curtains. He kissed her softly, her hands running up over his bare chest, caressing the fine hairs. In her dream, tears welled up in her eyes as he smiled at her. Perhaps some part of her subconscious mind remembered, and knew this wasn't real, could never be real. Her dream-self strove to shake off the intrusion.

Their lips met again, parting gently, their tongues meeting. Eleanor suddenly recoiled, nausea gripping her stomach. Something tasted horrible and it had entered her mouth. She looked up into Ben's steel grey eyes, but they were glossed over with a milky whiteness that obscured his pupils. She pushed slowly away from him, seeing that his face was withering, bits of dried flesh falling from his cheeks, his whole body beginning to crumble like a stale cookie. She choked on her first scream as broken bones poked through tissue paper flesh and jabbed at her own soft life filled body, as teeth fell from the rude hole that she had been kissing, as hair fluttered to land on her bare skin.

The second scream managed to escape her lips, just barely. She awoke, the bitter taste of decay still on her lips, a strangled little murmur coming from deep in her throat. She reached up in the darkness to touch her face, feeling the tingling tears still clinging to her cheeks. The strangely fractured light of her dream had somehow burned an afterimage into her eyes. It was fading quickly, but she could still see its distinct shape as she lay her head back down onto her pillow. It was the shape of a tree of lightning.

* * * *

The water was the deepest of aquamarines, rippling curtains of light and dark, filled with bubbles, large and small, that distorted vision. Peter was confused. He was descending too fast into the depths, the bubbles swirling around him in some kind of mad dance, without reason or rhyme. Finally, his feet touched solid, coral covered rock. He crouched in the abyss, arms wrapped around his body, realizing he was naked, without clothes, without scuba gear. He was suffocating and miraculously breathing at the same time. All around him, long strands of dark seaweed swayed, as if caught in some impossible underwater breeze.

He looked up from his bare feet to see something swimming out of the midnight blue towards him, a glimpse of long auburn hair, flowing wildly in that same spectral ocean wind. The figure turned, a woman of mermaid-like beauty, naked, as he was, but neither ashamed nor frightened by it. When he saw her face, his heart failed to beat for an instant. It was the face of Lara Croft, more enchanting and mesmerizing than it had ever been. Her smile brought light to the abyss as she swam towards him in all her naked glory, the curves of her body melting out of the darkness, coalescing before him like Aphrodite rising out of the sea foam.

He reached out to her. As his fingertips touched her face, she playfully darted away, as if she were a fish. But she curved around and came quickly back, still smiling. He reached out again. This time, as he touched her face, she did not retreat, but only moved closer. He brushed her face with both of his hands, caressing her cheeks. So strange, to be doing this in the ocean depths. She moved closer still, her face only inches from his. His lips parted, bubbles escaping from his lungs to rise upwards as he leaned in to kiss her. Even as he did, he noticed the darkness growing deeper around them, watery shadows closing in. Before their lips could touch, he was suddenly propelled backwards by a rush of ice cold current.

The shadows were clearer now, looming out of the abyssal darkness, a great hand, encrusted in the coral of the ages, trailing kelp and seaweed from gigantic fingernails. Before he could do anything, it began to close around Lara, like the maw of some terrible beast. She panicked, struggling to free herself from its monstrous grasp. Peter gaped in terror as the fingers curled around Lara. The fear in her eyes was like blazing red fire. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. It was utterly silent, yet still deafening to Peter's ears. He could only watch helplessly as the hand dragged her away from him, drawing her kicking and screaming into the blackness beyond.

Peter sat up in his bed, his body trying to flee from the nightmarish terror while his brain tried to grasp the reality of his surroundings. He swallowed, imagining he could taste saltwater on his lips. "Lara..." he whispered, little more than a croak. He lay back slowly, his head settling on his pillow, his breath slowing down. "Lara," he said again, a soft whisper in the darkness.

Shaken, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. He felt half-suffocated. He needed air. He cracked his cabin door open. The hall was silent. He glanced briefly over to Lara's door, hoping maybe to see a sliver of light coming from beneath it, but there was none. Running his hands up over his face and through his hair, he headed down the hallway, through the kitchen and dining area, towards the back of the boat. Even before he emerged onto the quarterdeck, he could see the strange light: a faint luminescence coming from outside near the stern of the vessel. Frowning, he approached the companionway cautiously.

The dolium was out there, still strapped down to the deck as it had been, its opening facing towards the stern. But even still, Peter could tell the shifting patterns of light he saw were emanating from inside it. What the hell was going on? As he stepped out uneasily onto the quarterdeck, a figure rose languidly, almost ghost-like from behind the dolium. The face of Rudy Fleischman was drawn pale in the unearthly glow. The scientist's mouth was cracked open, half an insane grin, half a silent scream as he stared with wide eyes into the dolium.

Peter tried to call out Rudy's name, but his voice caught in his throat, nothing more than a strangled whisper escaping his lips. Yet still, the older archaeologist seemed to hear him, looking up. Their eyes met, and Rudy's pupils glowed with a terrible and unnatural aquamarine intensity, a light that burned into Peter's soul, tearing at him from within, screaming down into the very depths of his being.

Peter's eyes flashed open. His fists clutched his sheets as he shook with fear, his breath rasping like gunfire in his throat. His face was hot and flushed. His entire body was trembling. He looked around the featureless shadows of his cabin. A nightmare. All of it just a nightmare.

He turned over on his side, pulling his pillow against his chest, and curling his body foetus-like beneath the sheets. "Lara," he whispered again, this time in the cool silence of a far more tangible night. It was a whisper that Peter thought only he could hear. But he was wrong. Something else heard too.

* * * *

The following day, more artifacts came up from the ocean floor. Trudy and Marcus dove in the morning, finding several bronze tools and weapons. Trudy came up with a piece of jewellery that was in the style of the Canaanites, the forebears of the Phoenicians, whose gods the Phoenicians had adopted as their own, Baal amongst them. Indeed, many of the artifacts seemed of a religious nature.

"I don't understand why we're not seeing more raw materials," Fleischman remarked with distinct agitation as he leaned against the rail of the Stella Blue, gazing out at the sparkling blue of the Caribbean. He was oddly jittery and nervous. "Trading vessels always had large amounts of copper and tin ingots."

"I don't think this is a trading vessel, Rudy," Peter said, standing beside him. "The coin I found yesterday was minted in 150 BC, just a year before Carthage was utterly destroyed by the Romans. Lara and I have a theory that this was some kind of refugee ship."

"Lara and you! Lara and you!" Fleischman spat with disgust. "What are you going to do next, Peter? Put her name alongside yours on your articles? You'll be the laughing stock of the academic community. You'll—"

"I don't know why you're so against her, Rudy. She may not have the academic qualifications, but she still knows her stuff. She's an expert in a number of areas of archaeology. She has as much right to be here as you and I do."

Lara chose that moment to emerge from one of the companionways near where they were talking, a book in her hand, Coyote sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and a towel over her shoulder.

"Well here's your expert now, in a black string bikini no less." Fleischman's voice oozed sarcasm. "Let's see how much she knows."

"I can see by the warm expression on your face that you must be talking about me, Dr. Fleischman," Lara said, her own sarcasm cutting his short.

"Peter was telling me that you and he had a theory about our little sunken boat here being a refugee vessel. Tell me, Ms. Croft. If they were escaping the fall of Carathage, then why are there only images of Baal on their artifacts? Why nothing of Tanit? She was equally important in their religion."

"Tanit was a fertility goddess. I would think that desperate seafarers would be far more interested in praying to Baal, the god of storms, for safe passage across unknown waters."

Fleischman conceded the point, but remained agitated. He had not, in fact, been himself since the opening of the dolium the previous day. "So why do—"

Eleanor interrupted them from the deck above. "You'll have to come down to the stern!" she called out. "Trudy and Marcus have quite a find!"

The three of them headed down to the stern of the Stella Blue. Santiago was there, the first Lara had seen of him since their encounter the night before. He failed to meet her eyes, being much more interested in what Marcus was bringing up onto the boat.

The grad student was a little out of breath. Eleanor returned and helped him lay what he had found onto the deck. It was a large coral encrusted ingot, shaped like an ox-hide, with four protruding handles. Fleischman took one look at it and turned a triumphant gaze on Peter and Lara. "So much for your theories, hmmm? How do you explain this? Raw materials! This was a trading vessel!"

Santiago was crouched down by the ingot with Eleanor, but was trying to get Fleischman's attention. "Rudy....Rudy!"

Fleishman turned away from Peter and Lara. Santiago looked up at him with a brilliant light in his eyes. "It's gold!"

* * * *

As excited as everyone was, they all broke for a lunch of lobster rolls and Jamaican beer. Spirits were high despite the tired looks in the eyes of many of them. Everyone agreed that if there was one gold ingot, there had to be more. Lara and Peter would be diving in the afternoon, and expectations were high.

After lunch, Santiago took a stroll along the deck and found the captain, Tony Yates, gazing off the starboard side through a pair of binoculars. "Looks like we have company," he said. His tone was conversational, but held a note of concern.

"May I?" Santiago asked, holding his hand out. The captain handed the binoculars to him. He gazed through them and saw a small vessel on the horizon. He nodded to himself. "La Guarda Costa, Captain," he said. "Nothing to worry about. Just a routine patrol. They will not bother us."

* * * *

Lara and Peter descended into the depths. Because the site was already mapped out and marked, they had little trouble finding the exact spot where Trudy and Marcus had found the gold ingot. Peter used the suction dredge to clear more silt and sand away from the area. Lara began to search the section for any more solid objects. It didn't take long before she had another ingot in her hands. Bare spots on the metal caught a little of the light from above, glinting in the twilight underwater gloom. Peter almost immediately found another. Lara used her knife to cut away some of the gorgonia, and saw more of the ingots protruding through the sand beneath. They both began to realize that a fortune in gold was buried here in these sands. It was only sheer luck that treasure hunters hadn't found it first.

Peter sent more of the pieces up in the nylon mesh scoop bag. Their dive time was into its final quarter. Peter caught Lara's eye and pointed upwards. Lara nodded and gave him the thumbs up. They began to kick towards the surface when Lara realized she'd left her knife on the bottom. She spun around, swimming down to grab it.

A shape suddenly loomed out of the darkness. It was another diver. He was clinging to a small underwater propulsion vehicle for maximum speed. For an instant, she wondered if it might be Marcus or Trudy. The thought was cut short by a painful burning sting that suddenly flared up in her thigh. Lara spun in the water in time to see the other diver sheathing a sharp knife. He was rapidly disappearing into the murk again. Lara grabbed her thigh where she'd felt the sudden burning sensation. Her wetsuit was sliced open. She could feel the warmth of her own blood leaking into the cooler water, could see it forming dark clouds at the side of her leg.

Peter had already reached the surface. He should have been paying more attention, but had probably assumed she was just behind him. She began to kick upwards herself, quickly halting her ascent when another dark shape passed overhead. This time it was no diver. She could clearly see its white belly and curving blue fins. It was a mako shark, no doubt drawn by the scent of her blood. Lara saw another one off to her left, circling slowly in the water. She sunk cautiously back down to the sandy bottom. If she tried to make a break for the surface, she would look more like prey than anything. The extremely fast makos would be on her in seconds.

A third shark appeared, sleek blue shape swimming silently out of the gloom. This one was even closer. Lara grabbed her wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. If the sharks didn't catch her, blood loss and lack of oxygen would eventually. She had to think of something fast. All three sharks were circling now. She knew that kind of behaviour. They were past the stage of curiosity. The smell of blood was starting to drive them crazy. She could swim along the floor, and surface on the other side of the boat, but the sharks would follow the blood trail and catch her easily.

She had to stop the bleeding. But how? Her hands were useless. She looked down over her body, desperately trying to find something expendable that she could use as a makeshift bandage. Unfortunately, the whole point of diving was to minimize the equipment you were carrying. You never took along anything useless. What could she use? Her weight belt! In emergencies where divers had to ascend quickly, they sometimes abandoned their weights. Not that she wanted to surface yet. Not until she could stop the blood. Her belt contained soft weights in pouches around her waist. She rapidly began to tear open the flaps, keeping an eye on the sharks for any sudden movements. One by one, she took the weights out. She dropped them into the pockets of her buoyancy compensator.

One of the sharks made a sudden, swift motion, passing only a couple of meters away from her. She knew it had to be now or never. She ripped off the empty weight belt and slung it around her leg. She pulled it tight to quench the flow of blood. She already felt slightly dizzy from blood loss. Kicking down near the bottom she began to swim under the dark shadow of the Stella Blue. If the sharks decided to follow the noise rather than the scent of blood, she was finished. Two of them were circling the area where clouds of her blood still permeated the dark water. The third had veered off in her direction before disappearing into the darkness.

Lara flipped over, kicking slowly, trying to see where it was. She'd lost sight of it. It would only be moments before the other two realized that their prey was no longer in the clouds of blood. She had no choice. She had to make a break for the surface now.

A terrible thought suddenly cried through her mind. It was possible she was now past her no-decompression time. But given a choice between being lunch for a shark and risking the bends, Lara decided the sharks would have to go hungry today. It was time for an emergency buoyancy ascent. She fished the weights out of her pockets and let them sink towards the ocean floor. She began to rise, kicking with her fins to go faster.

The third mako suddenly appeared out of nowhere, charging at her, its sharp teeth bared in a vicious grin. Lara yanked the regulator from her mouth, turning it in the direction of the shark. A billowing cloud of bubbles streamed out in the shark's face. Lara ducked her head. The animal glanced past her, confused. Lara continued upwards. The light around her became steadily brighter. She broke the surface near the stern of the Stella Blue. Peter and Marcus were both there, arms reaching down, hands grabbing, hauling her up onto the diving platform. The makeshift belt bandage was already starting to come loose again, bright red blood streaming down Lara's leg. A single shark fin broke the surface nearby, but just as quickly disappeared. The shark no doubt realized that its prey had escaped.

"What the Hell happened?" Peter yelled, more frightened than anything.

"I don't know," Lara said, not wishing to elaborate at the moment. She still had a knife wound to deal with. She tried to tighten the belt around her thigh again, but her vision was beginning to waver. Still, where someone else might have passed out already, she was determined to hold on.

Marcus and Peter helped her up onto the main deck. Trudy was there, aiding her in getting out of her wetsuit. Lara's blood ran across the deck, bright red in the blazing sun. "Do you think we should get her to the mainland?" Trudy asked, to no one in particular.

"No," said Lara. "It's not as bad as it looks. Just get me a first aid kit." Trudy did exactly that. Lara brushed wet hair away from her eyes. Using a gauze pad, she applied direct pressure to the wound for a good ten minutes, and then covered it with fresh gauze and waterproof bandages. "Good as new...almost," she said.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked, his voice deep with concern.

"I'm fine, Peter." She wasn't entirely. She was a little weak from blood loss, but she hid it well. "The wound wasn't very deep. Not even into the muscle, all right? Just help me to my cabin."

* * * *

She leaned on Peter for support as they made their way down the hall to her quarters. Santiago was in the hallway near her door waiting. "Ms. Croft," he said, politely bowing his head, but making sure his eyes never left hers. "I had heard about your incident. I am glad to see that you are all right."

Lara's eyes narrowed, meeting Santiago's own penetrating gaze. "I'm sure you are."

As Santiago strolled off down the hallway, Peter helped Lara into her cabin. "What was that all about?" he said as he closed the door behind them.

Lara poked at her gauze, making sure it was secure. "There was someone else down there. This was no accident, Peter."

"Someone else? Who?" He came and sat down on the bed beside her.

"I don't know, but I suspect it's someone who works for Santiago." She looked at Peter, her wet hair still sticking to her forehead. "As soon as he realized there was gold down there, it raised the stakes. He couldn't afford to have someone like me onboard."

Peter shook his head. "But everything we bring up from the bottom belongs to the Cuban government. It was all written down in the agreements. I don't understand why they'd send a heavyweight like this KGB fellow, or whatever he is, to protect their interests. And why he would try to have you killed over it."

"Peter. You're an American. To them, you're the enemy, and they don't trust you, written agreements notwithstanding. I'm sure Santiago, or whomever he is, fully believes that you intend to steal the gold from the Cubans...with my help."

He ran his fingers through his hair, frowning. He looked tired again, and frightened. "I still don't understand. Why send someone like this Santiago fellow. They had no reason to expect we'd find anything that valuable down there. Some interesting and rare artifacts maybe, but no one expected to find gold down there!"

Lara ran her finger thoughtfully over her lips. "Unless someone tipped the Cubans off ahead of time."

"But who? Like I said, no one expected to find any gold down there."

Lara looked him in the eyes. "Except maybe Rudy Fleischman. Remember the paper he presented at the World Archaeological Symposium in 1972? It detailed his theory that King Solomon's lost gold mines were actually in North America. Maybe he was so sure of his theory that he expected to find gold here. Remember how distraught he was before we found the gold? He was upset that no raw materials were coming up from the wreck."

"I still don't understand," Peter said shaking his head again. "Whatever you think of Rudy, he's still a professional archaeologist. He knew everything we found down there belonged to the Cuban government. He even signed his name to the agreement. So why would he feel a need to tip them off about the possibility of gold ahead of time? My God, even if he was thinking about keeping some of it for himself, which I find hard to believe, then that would be every reason not to let the Cubans know ahead of time."

"I know," Lara said flatly. "There are still some missing pieces here. But I want to clean up now and change into some fresh clothes, all right?"

"Lara." Peter put his hand on her shoulder, his fingers absently caressing her bare skin. "I just—"

She put her finger to his lips to hush him. "Not now, Peter, please?"

He put on a small show of frustration. "I've been trying not to say anything, but when I first saw you in the airport, I realized then I still had feelings for you. And I can't deny it anymore. I'm in love with you, Lara. I don't think I ever stopped being in love with you. When I thought you might be dead down there today, I nearly lost my mind! What made it worse was that I was partly to blame. I should have never left you down there, not even for a moment." He hesitated, and then added, "I should have never left you...period."

A tiny bit of anger flared up in Lara's face. "As for today, I can take care of myself, Peter. It wasn't your fault at all, so stop trying to take the blame for someone else's actions. As for the other thing—"

Peter's hands curled around her arms. "Every time I look at you my heart pounds in my chest."

She didn't need this now. She looked away from him, feeling flustered. "I can't talk about this right now. Please, Peter."

He relaxed his grip, his hands falling away from her. "You're right. I'll leave you alone for now. Maybe...maybe I'll go talk to Rudy, and see what he knows about all this."

Lara wanted to tell him she didn't think he should do that just yet, but right now she just wanted to get rid of him for a while, so she let it pass. Peter got up and left her cabin, closing the door behind him.

* * * *

Rudy Fleischman crouched at the stern of the boat, nervously examining the symbols on the outside of the dolium. His fingers were shaking as he brushed the tips over the stylized lightning trees that adorned the rim. He looked up over the edge, a manic fire burning in his eyes. His gaze turned slowly towards the yawning opening of the dolium. The fingers of both his hands gripped the rim. His eyes suddenly dilated, his trembling lips whispering inanities. Still gripping the edges, he plunged his head into the darkness.

* * * *

Peter headed down the hallway for the outer deck, but ran into Captain Yates before he could get there. "Dr. McKay," the captain said, a worried tone to his voice. "I need to talk to you...up on the bridge."

"Um...sure," he said, slightly irritated. His thoughts were on Lara, and what he had just confessed to her. The expression on her face, more than any evasive words she had said, had told him that she no longer felt the way he did. The captain's request was an unwanted distraction. He really needed to think how he was going to cover himself. He could just say he spoke in the heat of the moment, distraught by the fact that she could have died down in the water only minutes earlier. It wasn't that far from the truth, was it? He didn't have to tell her that he'd come to the realization of his feelings long before the incident with the sharks.

He followed Yates onto the bridge. The captain looked down at the controls for a moment. "I noticed another boat earlier today," he said. "Thought we might have company. Dr. Santiago was there and said it was just a Cuban Coast Guard vessel on routine patrol. But I've kept my eye on them." His fingers ran over the radar display. "They've been circling us like a shark all afternoon." He looked into Peter's eyes. "Their pattern changed a few minutes ago. They're on a course towards us." He pointed out the bridge window. "You can see them pretty clearly now off our bow."

Peter gazed out the window, thoughts of his conversation with Lara scurrying off to hide in the dark corners of his mind. "What do you suppose the Coast Guard wants with us?"

"That's just it," Yates said. "Take a look through the binoculars." He handed them to Peter. "I can't make out any Coast Guard markings."

Peter peered through the binoculars, and then lowered them slowly away from his eyes. "You're right." He looked over to Yates, his own expression now matching the worried look on the captain's face. "But you sure can make out the big gun on top."

* * * *

After showering and changing into a pair of khaki shorts and a white crop top, Lara had gone down the hall to the galley. She was fixing herself some beans and toast when she heard the first gunshots. Her head snapped up. Without another thought for the beans, she dashed to the hallway door, poking her head out and looking in both directions. Whatever was going on, it was happening outside on the deck. She hurried down to her cabin, retrieving both her Brownings, as well as her Uzi's, stuffing a few extra clips into her shorts. There had been no gunfire since the initial burst, but Lara wasn't about to take any chances.

When she returned to the hall, she ran into Fred Parks. The normally affable fellow looked frightened, and a little wild eyed.

"What's going on?" Lara half whispered to him.

He shook his head in small, quick gestures. "Not sure. Someone's boarded our boat. There's another smaller boat, a gunboat of some sort that's pulled up alongside."

"Cubans? Or pirates?" Lara asked, looking back down the hall for any other signs of movement.

Fred shrugged, a desperate sort of gesture. "Don't know. I think the shots they fired were warning shots though." It was then that Fred suddenly noticed the weapons hanging at Lara's waist. "What the hell are those?" he said pointing.

"My hips?" Lara offered. The look on Fred's face told her it was a poor time for sarcastic humour. "The guns are mine and I know how to use them. But don't worry; I'm on your side. Peter asked me to come on this expedition because he was afraid something like this could happen."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I won't know until I can get to a vantage point on the upper deck and find out exactly what's going on." She looked at him seriously. "You're best bet is to get to the nearest hiding place you can find and stay there."

Fred nodded nervously, watching her as she edged down the hallway to the far end. When she slipped into one of the unoccupied cabins, he turned and set out on his own.

* * * *

Lara pushed the cabin window open, and eased her body up and through it, wincing slightly at the strain she put on her wounded leg. But the manoeuvre saved her the risk of having to go out onto the open deck. Grabbing anything she could for handholds, and using the narrow deck rail as footing, she hauled herself up onto the upper deck, between the computer van and the bridge. The sky above was grey and overcast, and she could see dark clouds looming on the horizon. She could hear tense and angry voices from the other side of the computer van, down below on the open quarterdeck, near the stern. Drawing her pistols, she edged slowly along the side of the computer van till she could peer around the corner. She ducked quickly when she suddenly spotted someone from the corner of her eye on the bridge behind her. It was definitely not Captain Yates, unless the Captain had grown a long set of dreadlocks recently and taken to toting around an old M1 Carbine rifle.

She crawled on her belly alongside the computer van till she reached the edge of the upper deck, easing herself up far enough to see what was going on. Whoever they were, they weren't Cuban officials. Her second guess of pirates was probably more accurate. They were brutish looking men, some Black, some Hispanic. They had rounded up most of the people on board, including Santiago, but apparently not Rudy Fleischman.

She could see five of them, four on the deck down below, and one up on the bridge. Their craft, a scrappy looking gunboat, was moored alongside the Stella Blue. She guessed that there was probably at least one more of the pirates, maybe several, still back on their own vessel. They were all armed. Some of them were carrying stubby Ingram M10 submachine guns. One of them was waving a big .45 calibre auto pistol at the assembled prisoners. Lara could see the others also had pistols on their belts. They were a rag-tag bunch, but there was no question in her mind that these were extremely dangerous men. But then again, she thought with a grin, when she wanted to be, she could be an extremely dangerous woman.

The one waving the pistol was yelling in Spanish, but not at the hostages. Lara knew enough of the language to know he was telling some of the other men to spread out and start looking for anyone else who might be wandering around onboard.

She had very little time to formulate a plan. Easing herself back from the edge, she rolled over and came up in a crouch position. The bridge appeared to be empty. Dreadlocks had obviously lost interest. Scrambling backwards, she dropped into the stairwell and quickly climbed up into the bridge. It was quiet save for the faint static of the communications console.

She sat down on the floor, opposite the companionway she had just come through. In this position, she was hidden behind the control consoles. Someone wandering around outside couldn't see her, but she had a clear first view of anyone coming up the stairs into the bridge.

The radio crackled suddenly, drawing her attention. Amidst the static, she could hear a faint voice. She slid on the floor, moving a little closer to make out what it was saying. It was flat and official sounding. "...a severe storm warning for southern Florida, the Bahamas and Cuba. Repeat, the National Weather Service has issued a severe..."

Lara closed her eyes. "Brilliant," she said, in a sarcastic tone she usually reserved for taunting her enemies. "This just gets better every minute."

* * * *

The apparent leader of the pirates was a dark-eyed Puerto Rican, with a small patch of black beard just beneath his lower lip and a head that was shaven clean, but was covered with the shadow of a day or two of growth.

Peter had heard the other men calling him Malvado. He tried talking some sense into the man. "You can't do this!" he said, more to the barrel of the man's .45 than to his face. "This is an official archaeological expedition sanctioned by the Cuban government." He turned his head to appeal to Santiago. "Tell them! Tell them they can't do this!"

Santiago appeared complacent. "Oh, I'm afraid they can, Dr. McKay. These men are obviously operating outside the realm of the law, so it would appear that they can do anything they wish to do."

A sudden noise startled everyone. Peter spun to see Fred Parks attacking one of the pirates from behind with a large lug wrench. The young diver struck the pirate on the back of the head. The bearded black man fell to his knees, screaming. He reached frantically to the back of his head and his hand came away glistening in blood. Fred was already past him heading for the next one, but everyone else was too startled to move and join in the fray. They watched in terror as Malvado pointed his .45 at the young man and fired three times, hitting Fred twice in the chest and once in the face.

Fred Parks slid back, losing his footing on the deck, crumpling as the blood began to pour from his open wounds. Trudy screamed, falling into Marcus' arms for support. Fred's blood was running across the deck in an ever-expanding pool, his eyes glassy, staring up at the brooding sky.

Captain Yates suddenly stepped forward. "This is madness!" he cried out. "I am captain of this vessel. What is it that you—"

His question was cut short by a burst of automatic fire from one of the other pirates wielding a small submachine gun. Bloody red blossoms appeared all over the Captain's clean white uniform. Yates' face became a mask of sudden shock, paling as his eyes glazed over. He fell backwards against the railing, his feet leaving the deck, his body toppling over the edge into the ocean below. Peter jumped forward, an instinctive reaction to seeing a man go overboard. He froze suddenly when Malvado swung his pistol in Peter's direction. The archaeologist stared straight down the dark barrel of the .45.

"You want to die too, estúpido hombre?" the pirate snarled.

Peter swallowed and shook his head. He stepped back slowly. Trudy sobbed into Marcus' shoulder.

Santiago's complacent look had been replaced by one of anger. "Qué en el nombre del Dios usted está haciendo? Usted no debía matar a cualquier persona!" he spat at the lead pirate. (What in the name of God are you doing? You did not have to kill anyone!)

"Tomaremos este barco de nuestra propia manera!" the pirate leader shouted angrily. (We will take this boat in our own way!)

Peter looked back and forth. His command of Spanish was minimal, but he got a sense that Marcus understood. Marcus' face drew into lines of hatred as he glared at Santiago. "You bastard! You're working with these men!"

Santiago turned on Marcus with a face full of venomous anger. "Shut up if you want to live!"

Marcus' warm brown eyes somehow managed to grow as cold as arctic ice. Trudy, still clinging to him, looked over at Eleanor. The conservator seemed in a state of shock, her face registering no emotion at all.

The pirate whose head had been hit by Fred Parks had managed to get unsteadily to his feet, blood on his hand and arm. He glanced briefly at the fallen body of the man who had attacked him, then pointed his Ingram MAC 10 submachine gun menacingly at the remaining hostages.

* * * *

From her hiding place on the bridge, Lara heard the gunshots that killed Fred Parks. She scrambled to her feet and sprang up the companionway, climbing back onto the upper-deck to where the computer van was located. She ducked quickly behind the rough wooden wall of the computer van when she saw the dread-locked pirate prowling around the foredeck. But it was too late. He'd seen her. She heard his boots thud against the deck as he came for her. Then she heard the second round of gunfire, the burst that killed the Captain. The dread-locked pirate spun, cocking his head towards the sound for an instant. Lara lunged out from her cover, pistols both aimed at the pirate, firing simultaneously. Dreadlocks kicked backwards with each bullet that hit him, finally falling back off the edge of the upper-deck. His body plummeted down, hitting the quarterdeck with a wet thud.

Trudy screamed again, her cries becoming near hysterical.

The leader of the pirates yelled at Marcus. "Shut her the fuck up or you are both dead!" Marcus tried to comfort the young woman. He stroked her hair, whispering, "shhhh" into her ear. Trudy cried against his shoulder, mumbling, "Oh my God...oh my God," between sobs.

Lara was on her belly again, creeping to the edge just in time to see the pirates hustling their hostages off the quarterdeck into the cover of the dining area. The leader of the pirates was hissing into a hand-held radio, his eyes darting back and forth from his own boat to where the body of his comrade had fallen. As they disappeared from sight, Lara's eyes moved quickly around the stern area of the boat. She saw Fred Parks' body crumpled on the deck, his blood in a dark pool around him. At that moment, she felt the first droplets of cool rain hit her hot skin, almost stinging her with their suddenness. She looked up at the sky, and saw great, evil looking storm clouds glaring down at her, poised and ready to loose their fury on everything beneath them. To the north, the sky was even gloomier, brisk flashes of lightning ripping through the darkness.

Rolling away from the edge, she scrambled to her feet in time to see another one of the pirates still aboard his vessel, hunched low behind the gun on top. It looked like an old, salvaged Browning .50 calibre machine gun from WW II, an anti-aircraft gun...but it was about to be used as an anti-Lara gun. Lara dove for the cover of the computer van as the gunner unleashed a volley of fire that chewed away at the starboard side of the bridge and computer van. Glass shattered, and pieces of wood and fibreglass flew into the wind. Lara ducked as some of the shells burst through on her side of the van, screeching over her head and out to sea.

She could feel the boat beginning to lurch, as the sea grew edgy, large waves surging beneath the hull. There was no way Lara could get herself into a position to take out the gunner. He was too well concealed behind the gun. His fire would tear her to shreds before she even got a good shot at him. Which left only one option. She holstered her Brownings. In one quick move, she rolled off the edge of the upper deck, grabbing the lowest railing and monkey swinging to land on the narrow side deck below.

She almost slipped and fell on the wet surface. The rain bit into her bare skin and her ponytail was whipped around by the wind, as if it were a live snake. Lara pressed herself against the cabin wall, just beyond the curtained windows that looked in on the dining area. This was where she had last seen the pirates herding their hostages. She crouched, moving slowly. A narrow gap in the curtains revealed the dim interior. The remaining hostages were all there, looking frightened, but still alive. There was still no sign of Rudy Fleischman.

The pirates were there too, holding guns on the prisoners while their leader growled into his radio. Lara couldn't hear what he was saying, but suspected he was talking to the gunner, frantically trying to ascertain what was going on. He suddenly turned to the other pirates, yelling at them, waving his hand around in an all-encompassing manner. Then he pointed directly upwards. Lara's eyes narrowed. They were coming after her.

She backed quickly down the side deck. One of the pirates came out the back of the dining area onto the quarterdeck, but failed to see her. He was looking upwards, into the wind and rain. He crouched slightly, submachine gun in his hand, and started to cautiously climb the stairs to the upper deck. They think I'm still up there, she thought. It gave her a slight advantage.

She hurried back along the deck towards the front of the boat, hesitating near another set of stairs leading to the upper deck. The wind and rain lashed at her clothes. She looked out, beyond the bow of the ship, towards the north. In the distance, she could see the terrible, almost preternatural, darkness of the approaching storm, and it sent a momentary chill of fear up her spine. Lara could handle fear, but there was something monstrous and totally unstoppable about this darkness. She knew what the ancient mariners who had sailed the boat that now lay on the bottom of the ocean beneath them would have called it. They would have called it the Hand of Baal.

* * * *

Rudy sat curled up inside the dolium. He was not alone. He could feel the presence of another in there with him, even if he could not see it. It was something very old, the stench of decay hanging about it almost tangible, like cobwebs in some ancient tomb. Rudy knew he should climb out, but there was nothing he could do. He wasn't even sure why he'd climbed into the dolium in the first place. He drew his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around them, and began to rock gently.

He'd heard the voices outside, and the gunshots. But none of it seemed real. It was just a distant drama being played out on a stage that had nothing to do with him anymore. The shadows inside the dolium undulated, closing around him. He could smell their withering rot, yet they seemed to be screaming out for life. Something cold and dry wrapped itself around him, caressing his cheeks like a long lost lover. It smelled of seaweed and earth and decomposing corpses. Rudy's lips trembled and he closed his eyes. A deep, almost lost part of his mind was screaming out for him to flee, to leap out of the dolium and run as if not only his life, but also his very soul depended upon it. But his subconscious cry was drowned out by a Voice that was far louder. It was deep and rumbling, like a thunderous echo, full of the whispering screams of souls long ago devoured. And it was a Voice full of ancient loneliness and insatiable hunger.

Your ancestors once paid homage to me. They gave their lives to me.

A tiny bit of the archaeologist inside him struggled to be heard. A moment of defiance. "True," he whispered to the Voice. "Before the Israelites learned the truth of Yahweh, their gods were the same as the Canaanites. But that was long ago."

Still, I am in your blood. There is no escaping the ancient bond between us.

Rudy's voice was little more than a whimper. "Why did you not die in the flames of Carthage?"

I CANNOT DIE, said the Voice. I CAN ONLY LIVE.

Rudy felt stale, icy lips touch his cheek. And then his heart stopped.

* * * *

Out of the corner of her eye, Lara suddenly saw another one of the pirates, submachine gun in hand, climbing over the lifeboat that was lashed down to the forecastle near the bow end of the boat. He shook rainwater from his long hair, pulling the strands away from his eyes to see a little better. Like the other pirate, he too was focused on the upper deck.

Lara ducked back behind the wall, drawing her pistols again. If most of the pirates were up on deck, it would be to her advantage to get below decks. She didn't like the idea of running the risk of getting trapped in a tight place down there, but on the other hand, she wasn't going to free the hostages sticking around up here. And with most of the pirates up here, now was her best chance to help Peter and the others.

She cranked the handle of the door that lead down to the passenger cabins. A connecting hallway lead to the galley and the dining area where the hostages were. It was now or never. Creaking the door open, she peered in. Seeing nothing moving in the immediate interior, Lara slipped inside. She could still hear the storm lashing at the boat outside, and felt the vessel rocking on the choppy waters, but was thankful to be out of whipping wind and rain for the moment.

Lara moved cautiously down the stairwell. Peaking around the corner, she saw that the cabin hallway was empty. She made her way down the hall slowly, her head cocked, listening carefully for the sound of voices. From beyond the far end of the hall, she heard the sudden noise of someone approaching, shoes thudding against wood. She reached for the nearest door, mouthing a silent thanks to whoever might be listening that it was open. She slipped into the cabin, taking a brief survey of her surroundings. It was Santiago's cabin.

She dropped to her knees, looking under the bed. The case with the guns was still there, closed, but she could not be certain that Santiago didn't have his guns unless she opened it. In fact, she wasn't sure about this whole situation. Was Santiago in league with the pirates? He had been standing with the hostages when she last saw him. Yet he had not acted like a hostage. He seemed to have no fear of the pirates' guns. Then again, Lara's pistols had failed to intimidate him when she cornered him in her cabin. Was something else going on here?

Lara suddenly heard the latch on the cabin door turning. She sprang up and flattened herself against the wall right by the door, as it swung open. Santiago walked in, so focused that he failed to notice her for a critical instant. Lara put the barrel of one of her Brownings against the back of his head, just above his short ponytail. Santiago froze.

"Turn around very slowly, or I won't hesitate to pull the trigger," she said with and icy calmness to the unmoving archaeologist. He turned cautiously to face her. The muscles in his face were tense, but his eyes belied an inner cool that was extremely unnerving. He's good, thought Lara. "Right. Last time we had a little chat at gun-point, you said that I had absolutely no idea what was going on here, and that it was none of my business," Lara said. "It's certainly my business now." Her pistol remained trained between his eyes, unwavering.

Santiago pursed his lips, ignoring the gun, and meeting Lara's eyes instead. "It's about gold, Ms. Croft. Hundreds of millions of American dollars worth of gold."

"So you wanted to ensure that the Americans didn't steal any of the gold that rightfully belonged to Cuba?"

Santiago smiled calmly. "That's very good, Ms. Croft."

Lara's eyes narrowed noticeably. "But no one knew there was gold down there. Why would your government send a DGI agent in place of a real archaeologist to protect artifacts?"

Santiago's eyebrows rose. "So. You know more than I had thought. You are right, no one knew there was gold down there, but Rudy Fleischman had a very good guess. And his conviction was what convinced me."

"You knew Dr. Fleischman."

"For many years, yes. I was gathering intelligence on CIA activities in Nicaragua in the early 80's. Rudy was there on an archaeological dig. We struck up a most," he paused, searching for the right word, "unusual friendship. When he told me recently what he hoped to find in the waters off the shores of my country, it was not difficult to convince El Presidente Castro that the greedy capitalist Americans would surely try to steal it, and it would be to our country's advantage to place someone like myself onboard." His eyebrows bounced as he spoke the last words.

Lara frowned. "I don't understand. Fleischman is a communist sympathizer? That's why he told your government about the gold?"

Santiago chuckled. "Oh no, Ms. Croft. Rudy Fleischman is most definitely not a communist sympathizer. Neither am I, for that matter. When the Soviet Union collapsed, and the cold war ended, my heart went out of it. I began to look for other opportunities. Despite his conservative front, Rudy has always been a maverick underneath, and his unusual theories have never garnered much support from the establishment. He decided it was time that he sought other opportunities as well. He did not inform my government of the possibility of gold in these waters, Ms. Croft. He informed me. And together, we hatched a plan to steal the gold and split it between the two of us. A simple plan that with the assistance of a few local...entrepreneurs...should have come off without a hitch, and no one even had to get hurt. Frightened a little, perhaps, but I had never intended for anyone to die."

Lara sneered at him, still keeping her pistol trained on the spot between his eyes. "That's why you sent one of your 'entrepreneurs' to cut me underwater and serve me up to the sharks!"

A flicker of anger passed over Santiago's face. "There was only supposed to be a bunch of scientists and students. Our men could have easily intimidated them and kept them out of the way while we took the gold that had already been brought up from the ocean floor, and the computer files showing where the rest of it could be found. But then Dr. McKay had to bring you onboard. You were the biggest obstacle to the success of our plan."

Lara laughed derisively. "It seems to me that the sods you hired to help you are far more of an obstacle that I am. They're the ones going around popping off hostages and shooting up the boat."

Santiago shook his head bitterly. "Rudy is missing. These sods, as you call them, have taken things into their own hands. This whole situation is out of control." He waved his hand in a sideways chopping motion. "Do you think I wanted it to go this way?"

Lara gritted her teeth together in a small snarl. "It still doesn't change the fact that you tried to have me killed." Santiago opened his mouth to say something, but Lara cut him off before he could speak, pushing the barrel of her Browning right up against his forehead. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull this trigger."

Santiago remained unruffled. "Because, for the moment, you and I both have the same goal...to rid ourselves of these men. And I rather think you could use a hand in accomplishing that task."

Lara stared into the Cuban's eyes, searching them for trickery, but she saw none. Slowly, she let the pistol fall away, but kept her finger on the trigger. Santiago was right. As much as she hated to admit it, eliminating the threat that the pirates posed would be a lot easier with two of them working together, than by Lara acting on her own.

"Right," she said finally. "But we do things my way."

Santiago nodded in agreement. He held his hands out, palms up. "May I...arm myself?"

Lara brushed a strand of loose hair away from her eye, and stepped back. "Just hurry. We have a window of opportunity here while most of your mates are out there on the deck looking for me. And if we can take their leader out, it will hopefully leave them confused and running for their boat."

Santiago slid his suitcase out from under the bed, opened it and produced the Makarov. As soon as he pulled it free, Lara's finger tensed involuntarily on the trigger of her Browning. But Santiago only looked at her and said, "Let us go then."

The pair moved down the hallway, Lara watching ahead while Santiago covered their rear side. Once in the kitchen, Lara could hear Malvado growling into his radio in staccato Spanish. "What's he saying?" she whispered back to Santiago.

"They think you are not up top anymore. He is calling his men back to the dining hall."

Lara's eyes widened for an instant and her grip tightened on her weapon. "We have no time then. It's now or never." Santiago nodded.

Lara lunged forward, bursting through the door, diving and rolling to give Santiago space to fire. Both remaining pirates looked up in shock. Lara fired twice, hitting one of the men in the chest and arm. He fell back against the wall, clutching his wounds. Santiago fired over her, his pistol aimed at Malvado, but the shaven-headed pirate dove behind the dining table as chips of wood splintered into the air.

Lara continued her roll till she had cover behind what used to be the bar in the days when the Stella Blue was a luxury yacht. Just in time, as Malvado wrenched his Ingram submachine gun free from his belt and fired under the table. The roar of gunfire was deafening. All the hostages had dropped to the floor and Trudy screamed, her high-pitched voice only adding to the racket.

As Santiago fired from above, his bullets chewing up the dining table just over the pirate's head, Lara tried to get a clear shot underneath the table. Malvado fired again, tearing away at the edge of the bar. Lara ducked back. When she looked out again, Malvado was gone, and the room had fallen into relative quiet, save for the sound of Trudy sobbing, and the storm outside.

She looked at Santiago. "Where did he go?"

"Out the back. I am going after him." The Cuban agent made his way through the dining hall, his gun held out in front of him. Lara looked up and around. The other pirate lay crumpled against the wall, his hand still clutching his chest, covered in dark red blood streaming between his fingers. She bolted up and over to him, checking him for signs of life. He was dead. Santiago had disappeared down the companionway leading out to the quarterdeck at the back of the vessel.

Finally, Lara turned to the hostages.

"Lara!" Peter said rushing forward. "Thank God."

Lara wasn't sure if he meant 'thank God you saved us' or "thank God you're alive' but she rather guessed the latter, the way he tried to take her in his arms. She ducked out of his grasp, giving him a look that tried to say 'can we talk about this later?'. And she really meant it. She needed to talk to him, to be clear that she no longer had the feelings for him that he had for her, but now was definitely not the time. Now it would come out fast and angry. Peter deserved better than that.

"Alright, listen," she said in the direction of the others. "There are still pirates all over this ship—"

Marcus cut her off. "And that damn Santiago was one of them Lara. He fooled us all, and now he's escaped with the leader."

"He wasn't one of them, Marcus, but he did hire them. However, he is no longer working with them."

Marcus opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a sharply held up hand. "You'll have to trust my judgment on this one." She didn't have time to explain the complexity of the situation to the young grad student.

"I need to get all of you into the kitchen. There's only one exit, and it's a far better place to barricade yourselves than here."

The former hostages all just stared at her. She put her hands on her hips. "Well? Com'on!" Confused and shaken, they began to trudge together out into the hall. Lara kept her eyes and ears open for any signs of the pirates.

Peter came up beside her. "I need to get up to the bridge. With Captain Yates dead I know better than anyone how to operate this boat, and we need to find shelter from this storm. It sounds like a bad one."

"It is a bad one. But you'll be safer in the kitchen than—"

"I'm still director of this expedition Lara! These people are my responsibility too. I have to be able to assess the situation and make some decisions here."

She turned to him as the others found places in the kitchen to sit. "Now is definitely not the time to try and re-assert your male ego. You brought me on here as a security specialist, so that is exactly what I am bringing to this situation...security. I can't have you or anyone else running around—"

Peter waved his hand back in the direction of the dining hall, his voice taking on an angry edge. "You let Santiago run around!"

"Santiago knows what he's doing. I'm not—"

Peter tapped his chest. "I know what I'm doing too, Lara. Can you pilot this boat and get it to safe shelter from the storm? Right now, that storm could be just as much of a threat to us as those pirates."

Lara pursed her lips, and then sighed. "All right. We'll go up there together though. I don't want you out of my sight." She turned to the others, unholstering one of her Brownings. "Right then." She walked into the kitchen, holding the gun out to Marcus. "I'll leave you one of these, just in case, but you need to barricade yourselves in here as effectively as you can."

Marcus looked a little wide-eyed at the weapon. "I've never...used..."

Eleanor suddenly snapped out of the trance she'd been in since the first murder. "I'll take it," she said, her expression losing its limpness, becoming solid and resolute. "I know how to use it."

A slight smile played across Lara's lips. She handed the pistol to Eleanor. The conservator glanced over at Marcus and Trudy. "Well you heard what she said. Let's start finding things we can use to barricade ourselves in here!"

* * * *

Lara left the situation in Eleanor's hands and escorted Peter down the hall towards the stairs that lead up to the bridge of the Stella Blue. She didn't need to see the rain pelting against the bridge's broken windows or the boat's flags slapping frantically in the wind to know that the storm was upon them. She could feel the boat pitching beneath her as huge waves crashed against its hull. A smaller boat would be taking on water by now. Only the vessel's size was preventing them from being in extreme danger.

She peered up through the companionway. The bridge was empty. She nodded to Peter.

"Where the Hell is Rudy? Have you seen him?" Peter asked as he climbed up onto the bridge.

"I have no idea. No one's seen him." She decided not to mention Rudy's complicity in Santiago's plans to Peter yet. "Hopefully he's hiding somewhere safe."

Peter was moving his hands across the shipboard controls. He flicked a few switches, then tried them again and frowned. Lara watched through windows shattered by the pirate's .50 calibre Browning, for sight of the intruders. She could only see the bow end of the boat from this vantage point though, and there was not a sign of movement, except for the raging storm and the tumultuous waves beyond.

Water ran down the edges of the shattered glass and pooled on some of the panels inside the bridge. Peter brushed away the small puddles with his hand and tapped at indicators and gauges. "We've lost all engine power," he yelled above the noise of the storm. "The gunfire must have done some damage to internal systems. God, I hope we're not taking on water. If we are, we're screwed." He looked at Lara seriously. "I'm getting on the radio and calling for assistance."

Lara nodded, moving out of Peter's way as he went to the radio. He took a look at the LORAN for their position. "At least these are still working," he said to her. Lara stepped over to look at the controls Peter had been playing with. Behind her, she heard him on the radio. "Mayday, mayday, mayday...this is US private boat Stella Blue. Location north off Cayo Romano, 22.35º N latitude, 78.10º W longitude. Under siege by armed attackers. Severe storm conditions. No control over our vessel. May be taking on water."

Lara leaned forward, looking out over the bow of the boat. Rain coming through the broken window stung her face, and dripped off her chin. Someone was moving out there. She blinked, to clear the rain from her eyes, trying to focus. Behind her, she heard static from the radio. Peter began again. "Mayday, mayday, mayday...this is US private boat Stella Blue..."

There was something odd about the figure. It looked like a man, and yet it wasn't. It walked awkwardly on two long, spider-like legs. Yet despite its apparent gracelessness, there was an undeniable calmness about it, as if it were enjoying the lashing wind and rains. It stopped near the pulpit at the very tip of the bow, turning as if it somehow sensed Lara looking at it. Its face was far too long, as if it had melted, its chin reaching down to its chest. Its head was also longer and taller than it ought to be. It appeared to be something born of another age, a living creature of ancient myth, something wholly out of place and time. She stood transfixed. It met her eyes, and she could sense an evil so old it was almost primordial. This thing, she knew, had walked the earth before man ever had.

"Peter," she hissed, surprised at the shakiness in her voice. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the thing.

"...by armed attackers. Severe storm conditions. No control..."

"Peter!"

"What?"

"There's something out there."

"What?" he said again, dropping the radio and stepping over to her side. He followed her gaze out the broken window. The thing reached outwards, long multi-jointed fingers wriggling as they caught the rain. It seemed to smile a wicked smile, a smile Lara felt she had seen before, perhaps in her nightmares.

Peter grabbed the edge of the console, his knuckles going white, his mouth hanging open for a moment. "What the fucking hell is that?!?"

Lara swallowed. "I think the ancient Phoenicians brought more than their religion along to the new world. I think they brought their god with them."

The creature suddenly turned, its thin body impossibly at ease in the raging storm, and stepped precariously out onto the pulpit. It raised its arms skyward, a gesture not of supplication but of command. And the storm obeyed. Searing bolts of lightning lanced out of the tortured heavens, igniting the dark clouds with stark, blazing light. One bolt struck one of the hands of the being, another the other hand. The creature jolted backwards by the sudden fury of it, but it did not loose its footing. In fact, it seemed invigorated by the energy, rather than injured. It raised its smoking hands up once again, crying out to the storm, a cry not of rage but one of sheer rapture. It was deeper and louder than the thunder itself, a voice that shook the very hull of the ship and seemed to cause even the waves to stand still, if only for a moment.

"I think we have bigger problems than the pirates," Lara said, her voice the faintest of whispers by comparison.

* * * *

Santiago dashed out towards the back of the boat after Malvado, but was unprepared for the sudden violence of the storm. He lost his footing on the rain-slicked quarterdeck, spinning dizzily and crashing painfully against the back of the dolium. He slid down its curved exterior, striking the deck with a thud. It saved his life.

Malvado's shots ricocheted off the dolium. Santiago struggled on his belly to get further behind the artifact, and found himself lying in some sort of sticky muck that smelled like things long dead. Fighting off nausea, he kept his head low, but risked a glance up at the opening of the dolium. Even in the driving sheets of rain, he could see more of the foul goo dripping from the edges. Something was inside, something still, that smelled of the grave. He couldn't quite make out what it was.

Struggling against his natural impulses of fear and revulsion, he reached into the container, and grabbed whatever it was, hauling it up closer to the opening. The face of Rudy Fleischman came into view, parched of life and withered horribly, like an ancient mummy. Its dry, shrivelled eyes stared at the Cuban agent through the rain that was starting to pool in the sockets. With a muffled gasp of terror, Santiago released Rudy's corpse. It fell back into the dolium, parts of it breaking and crumbling into bits.

Santiago gasped. "Madre del Dios!"

He was about to risk another look inside when Malvado fired again. Santiago's thoughts snapped away from Rudy's horrifying corpse to the present situation. He was completely covered by the bulk of the artifact. Malvado couldn't even see him. It must be covering fire. The pirate was trying to get away.

Santiago scrambled up into a crouch and dashed out from behind the dolium, curiosity about the sticky goo leaving his mind. Malvado was beating a retreat down the side deck. Santiago aimed and fired, but the rain was too heavy for him to get an accurate shot. Malvado disappeared somewhere down near the end of the side deck. The Cuban agent bolted after him, but skidded to a sudden stop. With Malvado nowhere to be seen, it was entirely conceivable that the pirate was laying an ambush. Santiago realized that he had to get control of his anger or it would get him killed. He wiped the streaming water from his face with his free hand and looked out at the pirate's gunboat. Was there still someone up behind the large machine gun mounted on top? He could not see.

But he had an idea. Ducking, he edged cautiously along the side deck. There was an odd tilt to the deck, even in the huge rolling waves, and it worried Santiago. He could not let himself be worried now.

Makarov in hand, he watched the bow end of the side deck carefully, and pressed himself up against the rail near to where the pirate's boat was moored to the Stella Blue. His next action would be critical. One false move and he would plunge into the ocean, which meant either being crushed against the hull of the Stella Blue by the forceful waves, or being swept out into the watery maelstrom. Either way, death would be certain. Steeling himself, Santiago jumped up and vaulted over the railing, kicking off from it to hurl his body across the deadly gap onto the bow of the pirate's boat.

He almost made it.

* * * *

Eleanor stuck the Browning into the waist of her shorts. She regarded Marcus and Trudy with impatience. "Well let's get going. We need to push this table and anything else heavy we can find in here in front of the door."

Marcus shook his head. "I don't like that idea. I don't like the feeling of being trapped in here. There's a storm raging outside, and we obviously took damage." He walked in a slow circle. "Can you feel it? There's something unsteady here. Something wrong with the angle. I think the boat is listing." He looked back at Eleanor, his deep brown eyes penetrating. "I don't want to be trapped in here like a rat if the ship is going down."

Eleanor came up close to him, meeting his penetrating gaze with one of her own. "If these animals Lara calls pirates get in here, are you prepared to fight them? You saw what they did to Fred and the Captain. The best way to protect ourselves is to barricade ourselves in here."

Trudy stepped forward. Her voice was shaky. "She's right, Marcus. Please. I don't wanna die."

Marcus looked slowly around the room, then back at the two women. "The table, and a few chairs. Just enough to hold the door. If we have to get out of here, I wanna be able to do it fast."

* * * *

Santiago pulled himself painfully over the edge of the pirate's gunboat. He'd landed hard against it, likely bruising his pelvis. Waves had licked excitedly at his feet before he managed to hoist himself over onto the fore deck. He lay there, trying to catch his breath. A large wave crashed up against the hull of the boat, and cascaded water down onto him. He sputtered, rolling, grabbing the edge and yanking himself up. From here, he could finally see all the way down the length of the Stella Blue. He saw Malvado making his way through the rain towards the bow of the ship. He had a clear shot at the pirate leader.

Bracing his arm against the rail, he aimed his Makarov, closing one eye, taking careful aim. His finger tensed on the trigger, but as he was about to fire, a deafening roar shattered the din of the storm, a thunderous cry of exaltation that shook him to his bones and vibrated the planks of the deck he was half sprawled on. For an instant, even the rage of the sea was frozen in its steps, as if it had to pause and listen. Santiago blinked, and the sea resumed its onslaught against the two boats. Malvado was nowhere to be seen.

* * * *

The creature, whatever it was, had disappeared as fast as it had appeared. Somewhere down the port side deck. Lara turned to Peter. The archaeologist's face was the colour of skim milk. "Peter," she said. No response. "Peter!"

He blinked and looked at her. "I don't think I can deal with this Lara. This...this is..." He shook his head. "What the hell was...this was supposed to be a simple..."

Lara grabbed him firmly by the shoulders. "Peter, listen to me. It's more important now than ever that you join Eleanor, Marcus, and Trudy in the kitchen. I need to find Santiago and he and I must deal with this situation. Do you understand?"

"I just wanted...to...to..." He met her eyes. "God, Lara...this has gone way beyond anything I....I..."

"Come on then. Down the hatch with you."

With one hand still on his shoulder, she half guided, half pushed him down the narrow stairwell leading to the hallway.

A sudden movement distracted her. Her hand went instantly for her Uzi. There was a burst of gunfire. The pirate leader lunged, scrambling down the hall.

Lara fired, her shots tearing apart the wall and a nearby doorjamb above Malvado's head as he dove for the floor of the hallway. She sprung for cover beneath the stairs. Malvado rolled halfway through his dive. He landed on his back, sliding down the hallway, firing again.

Peter's head jerked back. Lara heard him scream, and she fired again as a hail of bullets chewed up the steps over her head. She shielded her face as bits of wood and fibreglass rained down on her. She went prone, wriggling on her belly to come up with a clear shot.

The pirate had disappeared. One of the cabin doors hung open. She looked over at Peter. He was sitting, his back to the wall, clutching his chest as blood pumped from his wounds. Each breath was a painful gasp. More blood trickled from his forehead.

"Oh Hell," Lara said. She yelled from behind the stairs. "Peter, hold on!" She snapped her head around as movement caught her eye. She fired down the hallway, but too late. The pirate had already dashed across the hall to another cabin.

"Peter, hang on!" Lara cried out, emotion starting to choke her voice. She tried desperately to think what to do. Malvado appeared suddenly at the door. Their gunfire was simultaneous, but neither had a clear shot. The pirate ducked back into the cabin.

Grinding her teeth together in anger, Lara pulled out her second Uzi. With a snarl, she did a swift roll, springing to her feet and charging down the hallway. Both her Uzis spit viciously as she ran, tearing away at the doorjamb. She screamed, diving into another roll, her movements ballet-like in their precision. Malvado's gunfire came straight out the door, over her head, peppering the wall behind her. Lara's roll turned seamlessly into a low crouch. Her Uzi's coughed fire and bullets once again.

The pirate's body jerked violently, his arms flying wide. He tumbled backwards, his machine gun flying from his hand, striking the side of the bed. His head hit the cabin window with a crack that shattered glass. Blood blossomed all over his body, and gushed from his lips. He was certainly dead before his body slumped to the floor, but Lara didn't wait for an instant.

She rushed out into the hall to Peter's side. He managed one tortured look at her before his eyes rolled up into his skull and he died.

"Oh God....no." Lara grabbed him. "No Peter! God no!!!" Her voice broke on the last word. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to stop the tears from coming. She felt them, nonetheless, stinging her cheeks.

Too much had been left unsaid between them. She could never change that now. She leaned close to him, her forehead touching his. "I'm sorry Peter. I'm so sorry..."

A deep groan suddenly reverberated through the walls of the vessel, followed by cracking sounds. Lara jerked her head up, her Uzi, still hot from its recent use, raised. She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing the wet strands that hung loose away from her face. Her eyes darted along the hall, up the stairwell, towards the bridge, then back down the other side of the hallway. She could see through the open door of one of the cabins. A sudden shadow passed by one of the windows. It was too fast to be that thing she had seen earlier. It was either Santiago or one of the remaining pirates.

Bounding to her feet, she headed back to the stairs that had recently afforded her cover. They creaked beneath her, weakened by Malvado's gunfire and the minute contortions the boat was putting on itself. She was trying to make it to the bridge, but felt the stairs giving way. As they fell from beneath her feet, collapsing below her like a house of cards, she dove for the door leading out to the side deck. She grabbed the handle, her legs kicking freely beneath her. Twisting her whole body, she managed to wrench the door open. She kicked one leg upwards, catching it on the bottom of the jamb, and hauled herself up into the pouring rain outside. Night was coming on, making the darkness of the storm even murkier. She turned her face at the sudden onslaught of rain and wind, grabbing the edge of the door to steady herself. Her feet slid on the slippery deck. The boat was definitely listing to the starboard side. She peered around the edge of the door. The figure she'd seen pass by the window was making its way to the bow of the vessel. Even through the oncoming darkness of night and the terrible rain, she could see that it was one of the remaining pirates. Anger boiled her nerves.

She dashed along the side deck, up onto the forecastle, opening fire with her Uzi as soon as the man made a clear target. The pirate lurched, his gun dropping from his hand. His body twisted in the rain. He toppled off the far side of the bow disappearing from sight.

Lara began to make her way across the forecastle when another terrible groan issued from the belly of the Stella Blue. The entire boat shook, her starboard side suddenly dropping a few feet. Lara tumbled backwards onto her rear end, sliding uncontrollably down the slippery deck. She tried desperately to grab a rope or a cleat or anything else she could get her hands on. Her Uzi skidded across the deck, spiralling over the edge into the ocean below. And then Lara was following it, her body flying off into empty space, her hands making a desperate grab for the railing. They made contact, but there was too much rain, and it slipped from her fingers.

In the instant before she plunged into the angry ocean, she managed to flip her body enough to tenuously grasp the edge of the deck with the fingers of one hand. Her knuckles strained. Lara cried out, groaning, her free hand flailing as she swung her body, trying to get a solid grip on the edge of the deck. Violent waves crashed beneath her, licking her legs with their deep, watery hunger. She kicked her feet, unable to find purchase on the sloping hull. Her breath burst from her lungs in painful gasps. Her fingers were beginning to lose what little hold they had, slipping bit by tiny bit. The muscles in her arms strained till they ached. She slipped a fraction of an inch more.

Her fingers were suddenly grasping at air, as they finally lost their grip on the edge. She screamed as she fell, but her fall, and her cry of desperation were cut short as a strong hand gripped her wrist. She looked up into Santiago's dark eyes.

He was perched precariously enough himself, braced against the railing. With a groan, he pulled Lara up enough for her to grab the railing herself, and haul her body back up onto the terribly angled deck. She stared at Santiago, trying to catch her breath.

The Cuban regarded her through the streams of water that ran down his face. "Mi deuda a usted ahora se ha pagado," he said, over the noise of the storm. "My debt to you now has been paid. We are even."

Lara brushed water from her own face, her lips shivering from a sudden chill. She nodded. "The leader of the pirates is dead!" She had to yell to be heard above the howling winds. "So is Peter!" As she said it, a cold feeling of despair tugged at her heart. "The others are downstairs! Have you found Fleischman yet?"

Santiago closed his eyes. The nausea came back briefly as he remembered Rudy's sad, collapsed face. He shook his head. "Rudy is dead too." He hesitated, before saying what he said next. "No pirate killed him Lara. I think there is something else onboard this boat. Something inhuman, something that came from the dolium."

"There is," she said, grabbing onto a higher part of the deck. "We're going to have to stop it."

The boat suddenly heaved again. Lara rolled against Santiago. He grabbed her, straining to keep his grip on the railing. Freeing herself from him she grasped the higher part of the deck she'd been reaching for. Santiago followed suit. Lara looked back at him. "We're going to have to get the others. This boat is going down!" she yelled.

Santiago nodded tersely and began to climb.

* * * *

After the boat lurched for a second time, water began to flood with deliberate speed into the kitchen. "Oh my God," Trudy squeaked, backing up against the wall.

Marcus looked at Eleanor, his face a mix of fear and anger. "That's it," he said. "We're getting out of here, and damn the pirates." He sloshed through the slowly rising water to the barricade and began taking down the few things they had managed to put up.

"Where are we going to go?" Trudy whimpered.

"There's a life raft up on the forecastle," Eleanor said, helping Marcus pull down one of the chairs. "We'll head for it and hope it hasn't been damaged as well."

"Com'on Trudy...help us with this table," Marcus said angrily.

Trudy rushed into the ankle deep water and grabbed and edge. They all pulled and the table came away. Marcus reached out for the door, but Eleanor stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Wait." She had the pistol drawn again. They creaked the door open together. Eleanor peered out into the hallway. Water lapped against the wall, and sloshed around the stairs leading up to the dining area and quarterdeck. She nodded in the opposite direction. "We're heading back that way. Let's go."

Marcus could see the fear in her eyes. She was doing a good job of being brave, being a leader. He would have never expected it from the normally quiet conservator, but it impressed him. He was ready to follow her. Trudy too had finally pulled herself together at the thought of getting out of here. Worse terrors might be waiting for them on the outside: pirates, and the storm; but it was better than being trapped in the hull of a sinking ship. Marcus grabbed her hand. "You gonna be okay?"

The young student nodded.

Eleanor was already out in the hallway, the water rushing up around her lower calves now. Lights flickered chaotically. The gun Lara had given her was held steadily out in front of her. She used to do target practice with Ben when he was still alive, and she knew how to use a pistol. There was no uncertainty in her stance. Marcus urged Trudy out first, then fell quickly in behind her, putting her between him and Eleanor.

They moved slowly down the hall, water swirling around their legs. Eleanor and Trudy watched up ahead while Marcus watched their rear. The entire hallway was tilted, skewed, giving them all an unsettling sense of imbalance. The floor beneath their feet sloped awkwardly beneath the water.

Eleanor suddenly stopped. "Shit," she said, almost inaudibly, but both Marcus and Trudy heard her.

"What is it?" Marcus asked.

Eleanor nodded up ahead. "The stairs to the bridge have collapsed."

"Oh God..." said Trudy.

The hatch leading out to the side deck hung open, letting a small part of the storm's fury inside. But down where they were, it was still ominously calm; the only sounds were the sloshing of water around their legs and their own breathing.

But then they all heard something else.

Three heads turned simultaneously in the dim, wavering light. A single splash came from down the hallway, followed by a terrifying moan that could have issued forth from the Abyss itself. It made their skin creep with a life of its own. Trudy's hands jumped reflexively to Marcus' shoulders. She clung to him, trembling, a terrified whimper escaping her lips.

Even Eleanor's arm was no longer steady as she pointed Lara's pistol towards the darkness at the end of the hall. "What the hell was that?"

The pungent smell of ancient rot suddenly filled the narrow hallway, turning it claustrophobic, like a tunnel so deep underground that there was no escape.

* * * *

Above them, the clouds coiled and churned with malevolent fury. The rain viciously pelted Lara and Santiago as they made their way slowly up over the forecastle towards the bridge. Lara felt a sudden stinging on her cheek. Her hand flew up reflexively and came back with blood on it. She looked to the fibreglass hull near her head and saw that it had shattered with the impact of something. A shard of the fibreglass had struck her face. For a moment she was confused, then she suddenly grabbed Santiago by the arm and pushed him, along with herself, behind the lifeboat that was strapped down to the forecastle.

"There's someone up there shooting at us," Lara yelled. She hadn't even heard the gunshot, but knew almost instinctively that's what had caused it.

Lara peered cautiously above the edge of the lifeboat. Through sheets of rain, she could just barely make out the shadow of someone lurking up in the bridge. One of the remaining pirates, no doubt.

"I will cover you," Santiago yelled, brandishing his Makarov. "Go!" He held the pistol in both hands, aiming over the bow of the lifeboat, shooting up the slope of the deck at the bridge.

Lara was on her feet. Vaulting over the lifeboat, she climbed the slippery deck, keeping low. The storm tore at her, trying to force her back. Her ears picked up the sound of shattering glass, barely audible through the screeching winds. She fell against the side of the bridge, breath heaving in her lungs, her hair slick against her forehead.

She tilted her head up, and saw the tip of a submachine gun poking out through a broken window. Without hesitation, she rolled onto her back and kicked up at the gun. The barrel erupted, sending a wild hail of bullets as the gun flew out of the pirate's hand. Lara rolled on her side, coming to her feet, her remaining Uzi spraying bullets into the bridge. The dim shadow of the pirate seemed to whirl as it fell against the windows on the far side of the bridge. More glass shattered.

Lara climbed in through one of windows, slipping on the pirate's blood as she tried to gain a footing on the sloping floor. Clutching one of the now dead consoles for support, she looked back out for Santiago. He was nowhere to be seen.

Frowning, she turned back to look at the inside of the bridge. It was a mess. She looked down the hall leading out of the bridge, and could see only darkness. Her eyes darted around the bridge till she found what she was looking for. A torch. She could never figure out why the American's called these things flashlights. After all, they didn't bloody well flash like a camera. She flicked it on, pointing the beam into the darkness.

* * * *

The narrow, inhuman figure emerged from the shadows into the flickering light. Eleanor's fingers tensed, pulling on the trigger of the pistol Lara had given her. The retort of the blast cracked through the hallway. The thing grinned a long and terrible grin. "Go!" Eleanor yelled. "Get Trudy up there!"

Marcus spun in the almost knee deep water. "Com'on girl," he said, knotting his fingers together. "Time for a boost."

Eleanor fired another shot at the thing. It took a step forward through the water, its eyes shimmering blue and green, like hot flames in the dim light.

As Trudy tried to step into Marcus' hands, something suddenly bobbed to the surface of the water near the man's feet. Peter's pale face stared up at them, mouth open, a dark hole. Trudy screamed.

"Jesus Christ!" Marcus swore. He looked to Trudy's face, and saw her eyes were riveted with horror on the corpse. "Don't look at him, girl! Com'on!" He knotted his fingers together again and held them out for her. Struggling to tear her gaze away from Peter's face, she stepped into his hands. Peter's body sunk beneath the surface again, dragged down and away by the rapidly strengthening current. Marcus boosted Trudy upwards. Her hands flailed for a moment, then grabbed a section of the broken stairs protruding from the wall. "Higher!" she cried out. Marcus strained, trying to lift her a little more. A horribly deep and ancient groan assaulted his ears. He turned to look.

Eleanor fired again, but still the thing moved forward. She had never seen this thing before, not even in her wildest nightmares, yet somehow it felt familiar. It had been there all along, had touched her shoulder on the deck, and had even invaded her dreams. She knew this thing was obscene beyond measure, and knew that if she failed to stop it, or at least slow it down, it would kill them all. She fired again.

"I can't get it," Trudy yelled, her free hand not quite reaching the edge of the upper hallway. Marcus turned back to her, looking upwards. He tried to get his hands under her feet so he could push her whole body up. The water sloshed and gurgled around him, its current growing stronger. He was afraid he would lose his own footing.

And then, a face suddenly appeared above both of them. Lara looked down from the upper hallway. "Need a hand?" she said, reaching down to Trudy. The girl grabbed hold and Lara hauled her up.

Marcus looked over his shoulder. Eleanor's back was almost against him as she retreated from the thing that continued to wade, with a maddeningly slow but deliberate pace, down the hall towards them. Its thin limbs cut through the water like gondolier's poles. Its long fingers wriggled with anticipation.

Marcus turned and jumped, grabbing hold of the broken stairway. He reached up, his fingers curling into Lara's grip. Below, Eleanor fired again. Marcus braced his feet against the wall as Lara groaned, pulling him upwards. "Eleanor!" he cried, holding one hand out. "Com'on!"

The conservator could not tear her eyes away from the terrible monster that faced her. There were barely three metres between them now. It could have leaped out at her, coiling its grotesquely long fingers around her throat, but it seemed to be enjoying her fear, revelling in her panic. Her heart pounded inside her, ringing in her ears like gongs.

"Eleanor!" Marcus screamed. She snapped out of it, whirling in the rushing water, reaching up and grabbing his hand. With Lara and Trudy hauling him up on one end, Marcus kicked up, catching his foot on the edge of the upper hallway. The muscles in his arm bulged, straining against his dark skin. Eleanor's feet left the floor. Trudy grabbed Marcus' ankle, and with Lara, finally dragged him up over the edge.

Belatedly, Eleanor tried to shove Lara's pistol under the waist of her pants to free her other hand, and instead watched it fall uselessly down into the swirling dark waters below. The creature came up beneath her, reaching upwards slowly, its smile an inhuman one of coldness and cruel delight. Lara and Trudy grabbed Marcus's shoulders, pulling back as he hoisted Eleanor upwards. The thing's fingers just managed to caress the bottom of one of the conservator's legs. She cried out in agony and terror as her three companions finally pulled her up.

"Oh god…oh god," Eleanor gasped. They all looked the bottom of her leg. Even as they watched, it was cracking and drying around the bone, her foot starting to hang uselessly where the creature had touched her. Eleanor screamed in agony. Lara aimed her Uzi over the conservator and opened fire. The thing backed away a little, but not much.

"Com'on Eleanor," Marcus said, curling his arm around her to help her up. The entire boat suddenly groaned, the bulkheads shivering. The floor beneath cracked, dropping unexpectedly. Trudy screamed, losing her footing, plunging backwards off the edge.

Marcus dropped Eleanor, spinning. "Nooooo!" he yelled, grabbing for the girl, missing by inches. Her scream reverberated through the dark hallway as she plummeted down into the arms of the horrible creature below. Marcus scrambled to the edge, staring down in horror.

The moment she came in contact with the monster, Trudy's entire body began withering, as if she were aging decades in seconds. The dark lustre of her hair streaked with grey, her mouth opening in a terrible dying croak even as her lips shrivelled and her face collapsed inwards, her flesh cracking and flaking away.

Marcus was frozen on the spot. He stared into the creature's eyes, which glowed fiercely. It dropped the husk of Trudy's body into the water.

"Noooooo!" Marcus screamed again, tears clouding his vision. The thing below licked its thin lips, and began to back off slowly down the hallway.

"No..." Marcus said again, this time little more than a whimper.

"Com'on Marcus. Let's get the hell out of here," Lara said. "There's nothing we can do. She's gone." Lara's voice strained to hold back her own emotion. "She's gone."

Marcus looked at her dumbly for a moment, then at Eleanor, who was still lying, curled up on the angled floor. His breath came in small, angry gasps. He got to his feet, helping Eleanor up as well, saying nothing.

The three of them stumbled down the hallway towards the bridge.

* * * *

The man calling himself Santiago kept one eye on Lara as she climbed into the bridge of the boat through a broken window. By chance, he turned his gaze momentarily to the pirate's vessel, and saw the big gun on top slowly rotating towards the bridge of the Stella Blue, and the unwitting Lara.

She would never hear a warning yell above the storm. Thinking fast, Santiago let go of the lifeboat. He tumbled down the perilously sloping deck, crashing against the railing. He grabbed it to stop himself from plummeting off the boat into the raging ocean. The boat heaved, and so did his stomach. From the lower angle he was at now, he could just make out the figure of the gunner. He aimed and fired his Makarov. The pirate ducked. Santiago swore, and fired again.

He looked back up to the bridge. Lara was out of sight, safe, for now. It was time for him to take out the last of his vicious 'associates.'

He crawled on his belly, bracing himself against the steel railing. The sea raged just below him, huge waves spraying him with salty water. The edge of the Stella Blue's deck was now lower than the pirate's vessel, but the small gunboat had been pushed closer by the angry waves. Santiago stuffed his Makarov into the belt of his pants. Gripping the wet rail, he pushed himself up. Another wave slammed into the Stella Blue. Sheets of water rained down on Santiago. He lost his footing, but not before he grabbed the edge of the pirate boat's gunwale. The big Browning loomed overhead, unmoving in the growing darkness. Where had the other pirate gone? He hauled himself up onto the rain-slicked deck, rolling away from the lurching edge. He gasped for breath after the exertion. Rain ran down his face.

There was a sudden thud behind him. Santiago spun, his arm flying up reflexively. The pirate's knife cut into his forearm, but the cut was not deep. Still, he felt the sting of its bite. He also felt the warm blood soaking his shirt. He tried to round kick the pirate, but lost his traction on the slippery deck. He fell backwards, hitting the boards painfully. The pirate was on him, sharp knife descending towards his face. Santiago rolled, the blade sinking into the wood of the deck, just beside his head.

He kicked at the pirate again, connecting this time. The pirate tumbled over against the cabin wall, grunting in pain. The knife was still sticking from the deck. Santiago snatched it as the pirate lunged towards him again. He swung, and the sharp blade sliced the pirate's throat. The pirate fell like a sack of onions, onto Santiago, blood gushing out of his gaping wound. Santiago groaned, shoving the body off of himself.

* * * *

Eleanor couldn't walk on her own. Her face was drawn and pale, her lips dry and colourless. Her arm was slung around Marcus' shoulder. The grad student had his arm wrapped around her waist, but it was slow going. Lara peered into the bridge area. She had no idea where Santiago had gone. Did that thing get him? Or had one of the pirates?

She took a spare clip from the deep pocket of her shorts and jammed it into her remaining Uzi. She was ready for a fight, but hoped to God there wouldn't be one. Neither Marcus nor Eleanor were up to it.

The storm continued outside, unabated, thundering against the bridge's windows that weren't yet broken, raining in through those that were.

"Wait here," Lara said. Before Marcus could respond, she ducked back and opened the side door. The rain stung her face, obscuring her vision. She blinked, taking in what little she could see in the darkness of the night. She could make out the shadowy mass of the pirate's boat just off their starboard side, heaving up and down with the waves.

A sudden light stabbed her eyes, and a voice called out through the rain. "Lara!" Santiago moved up to the very bow of the pirate's vessel. "Lara!" he yelled again. "Over here! It's the only way."

She still wasn't sure she could completely trust Santiago, especially after he'd disappeared on her. But the Stella Blue was going down whether they liked it or not. It would be far safer weathering out the storm on the pirate's boat than in the Stella Blue's tiny life raft.

She made a decision and called back to Marcus. "Over here! We're going to the other boat before this one sinks!"

Marcus appeared in the hallway supporting Eleanor, who was looking a little better, surprisingly determined, considering what she had been through. "How are we going to get across?"

"Santiago's out there. He can bring the boat up against the Stella Blue, but it's still going to be a difficult jump."

Marcus shook his head. "There's no way Eleanor can—"

"We have no choice, Marcus," Eleanor said, cutting him off. "I'll have to try."

Marcus shook his head, but helped her towards the doorway.

"You go across first, Marcus," Lara yelled to be heard above the storm. "I'll help Eleanor over from this side, and you can grab her from the other side." She put her arm around the other woman to hold her up.

Santiago was in the pilothouse of the pirate's boat now, bringing the vessel as close as he could. It was difficult, with the waves crashing around them. Marcus judged the distance as best he could and leaped. He rolled over the gunwale and thudded on the deck. He pulled up, rain splattering his face. Blinking his eyes, he waved back across to Lara and Eleanor.

Lara looked at the conservator. "Don't worry. You'll make it. I promise."

Eleanor nodded in the shadows.

The conservator raised her good leg and placed her foot on the slippery rail. Lara held the woman's hips, supporting her. The boat lurched with each successive wave. Marcus reached out from the other side. Steeling herself, Eleanor pushed up and off from the rail, groaning in pain as she did. The gap of ocean passed by beneath her. Marcus grabbed her arms. Lara held her breath. She gripped the rail of the Stella Blue with white knuckles. The young student struggled to pull Eleanor up. Even in the darkness, Lara could see the muscles in his arms straining, but he finally managed to get the woman up and over the gunwale. He turned, holding his hand out to Lara.

She didn't need the hand, but smiled, appreciating the gesture. As she was about to jump, she caught sight of a burning, blue-green luminescence in the periphery of her vision. She turned her head. It was coming from near the stern of the Stella Blue.

That thing was down there. She couldn't see it, but she knew it. She could feel its evil in her bones. Once the seal on the dolium had been broken, that evil had been freed into the world, and sinking it back under the water would not stop it now. It still had to be weak, not up to its full strength, or it wouldn't even be here anymore. Lara knew she had to stop it now, or she might never get a chance again. The world might never get a chance again.

Gripping the rail, she began to make her way towards the stern of the Stella Blue.

"Lara!" Marcus cried out. "Where are you going?"

She turned, the wind and rain beating against her face, the rain plastering her clothing against her body. "I'm going to stop it, Marcus. Wait as long as you can, but don't wait too long!"

"But..." he yelled. She was already turning away. "Lara!" he called again. He could see that she either wasn't listening, or could no longer hear him above the fury of the storm.

She made her way along the side deck, slipping a few times as waves crashed around her. Water was already swirling around the base of the dolium, but it remained secured to the deck by the strong rubber straps that held it in place. Lara reached it, grabbing the curved back of the artifact for support as the water rushed up around her ankles. She realized if she was going to do something, she didn't have a lot of time.

The blue-green radiance she had seen a few moments ago from the side deck was coming from the mouth of the dolium. Lara had no idea how she was going to confront or stop this thing. She wondered if somehow she could get the dolium's stopper back in place, but she had no idea where it was, and no time to look for it.

Making her way around the edge, she peered into the ancient container. The luminescence retreated deeper into the darkness of the dolium, as if coaxing her to follow it.

"All right then," she said, slipping her Uzi from her belt. "We play it your way Baal...for now."

She grabbed the lip of the dolium. She could see nothing inside, but the faint glow. Pulling herself up, she wriggled in. She was afraid she would come face to face with the monster, balled up inside the interior, with no way to fight it or even escape. Her fears could not have been further from the truth.

Contrary to what they had seen the first time they had looked into it, the dolium was far bigger inside than it was on the outside. It was like the TARDIS from Doctor Who, that fanciful show on the BBC that Lara used to watch when she was a little girl.

The thundering sound of the storm diminished once she was inside. In here, amidst the shadows, it was unnaturally calm. The strange radiance had completely vanished, yet there was still some light in here, as impossible as it would seem. But then this place itself was impossible. Lara stepped forward, her footsteps echoing in the empty hall.

And then she stopped. There was something at her feet. She crouched. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she began to make out what it was: poor Rudy Fleischman's mummified corpse. She had not liked the man much, but she would have never wished something like this upon him. She pulled the flashlight from her belt and flicked it on. The narrow beam illuminated the room she was in. It was even bigger than she had thought. Besides Rudy's corpse, the cracked floor was also littered with bits of broken stone and dust, and chunks of rubble. Lara stood up slowly, shining the light around. The walls disappeared up into darkness, but she could make out the faded images of lotuses and winged golden sphinxes on their worn surfaces.

It suddenly struck Lara how alien it was, to be in a place like this, when only moments before she'd been climbing around on a modern ship, with a tropical storm raging all around her. She felt a shiver snake up her spine, and a coldness settle in her chest. Ahead lay two giant portals, divided by a narrow pillar. The faint light was coming from beyond. Lara stepped over Rudy's body, and moved forward cautiously.

The next room was immense, over four times as long as the room she had just come from. The smell of decay hung in the air. High on the walls, narrow openings emitted the faint light. Nevertheless, it was the flashlight that really lit her way. The beam fell on a tripod up ahead, the light glinting against its golden surface. As soon as it did, the ancient lamp that rested on the tripod suddenly burned to life, the flames flickering in the darkness. One by one, lamps on tripods down the length of the hall began to flare and burn, save for one that was overturned, and lay broken on the floor.

Lara flicked the flashlight off and tucked it back into her belt. There was enough light in the room to see most of it. Only the far end still lay in darkness. More lotus patterns and winged sphinxes adorned the walls in here. Ahead on the floor, Lara could see what looked like more bodies, but these were clothed as the priests would have been in ancient Phoenicia or Canaan, white robes with colourful belts. But the colour was faded and the robes were tattered. And all that remained of the priests who had worn them were crumbling skeletons and grinning skulls.

Lara looked up and around. This place looked oddly familiar, though she was certain she had never been in here, or anywhere like it. Yet something nagged her at the back of her mind. What was this place?

A sudden sound drew her attention away from her thoughts. Two thin, aquamarine eyes gazed at her from the shadowy, far end of the hall. The creature stepped out into the wavering light of the tripod lamps. Its jaw lowered in a malicious grin.

LARA, it seemed to say, for she could only hear it in her head. The Voice was like hollow thunder, filled with ancient fear, and horror beyond imagining.

Lara felt a weakness in her knees, and her body trembled slightly when she heard the Voice. But she didn't falter. She raised her head, meeting the creature's terrible gaze. "Baal," she acknowledged, for she knew who this was, or at least who it thought it was.

COME TO ME, LARA, it said. BOW BEFORE ME, AND OFFER UP TO ME THE REMAINING YEARS OF YOUR LIFE, SO THAT I MAY GROW STRONGER.

Lara could hear her own heartbeat, hammering in her ears. She pulled her Uzi from her belt. "Never. Can't you see, Baal? Your time in this world has passed. Carthage has crumbled to dust. Your priests are all dead and forgotten. Even the language they worshipped you in has faded from a whisper to silence." She stepped slowly forward, between the rows of flickering lamps, the Uzi raised, aimed at the monster.

Its grin did not diminish. NO, YOU ARE WRONG. THOSE WHO ONCE WORSHIPPED ME ARE GONE, YES. BUT MY TIME HAS NOT PASSED. IT IS ONLY BEGINNING. WITH YOUR LIFEFORCE, AND THOSE OF YOUR REMAINING COMPANIONS, I WILL BE STRONG ENOUGH TO LEAVE THIS PLACE ONCE AND FOR ALL. AND SOON, THE WORLD WILL ONCE AGAIN SPEAK THE NAME OF BAAL WITH TERROR. THEY WILL FALL TO THEIR KNEES IN FEARFUL SUBMISSION, BUILD TEMPLES TO MY GLORY, AND SACRIFICE THEIR LIVES AND THEIR CHILDREN'S LIVES IN MY NAME.

Lara shook her head, the aim of her Uzi never wavering. "You're wrong, Baal. People today have their own gods, and they have science too. You represent the distant past. People have no need of you."

BUT THEY DO. I AM NOT IGNORANT OF YOUR WORLD, LARA. Every time the creature spoke her name, it sent another shiver racing up her spine. The creature's eyes flickered in the gloom. It appeared as if it were looking into some far away place. I SEE THE ADVANCEMENTS YOU HAVE MADE, THE WONDERS YOU HAVE CONJURED UP WITH YOUR TECHNOLOGY AND YOUR SCIENCE. BUT STILL, ONE THING ELUDES YOUR CONTROL.

Lara's eyes narrowed.

STORMS, the monster said, answering her unspoken question. HURRICANES AND TYPHOON'S RAVAGE YOUR COASTS, DESTROYING HOMES AND LIVES WITH EVERY PASSING YEAR. TORNADOS WIPE OUT WHOLE COMMUNITIES IN YOUR INTERIORS. SHIPS SINK, FLOODS WASH AWAY TOWNS. YOU ARE POWERLESS AGAINST THE STORMS. THIS I KNOW, THIS I SEE. Its eyes flickered back to look at her. YOUR WORLD STILL NEEDS ME. THEY HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR ME, FOR I AM BAAL, LORD OF STORMS! The creature reached out towards Lara, its obscenely long fingers wriggling with need. BE THE FIRST OF YOUR ERA TO OFFER YOURSELF WILLINGLY TO ME, LARA. BE THE FIRST OF YOUR TIME TO WORSHIP ME, AND I WILL SEE THAT YOUR HISTORY REMEMBERS YOU AS MY FIRST PRIESTESS.

Lara's voice almost caught in her throat, so overwhelmed as she was by the Voice and the creature's presence. But it didn't quite catch. It came out loud and clear. "My answer is the same as before, Baal. Never!"

She pulled back on the Uzi's trigger, firing at the creature. She could see the bullets striking it, sending up small puffs of smoke, but Baal seemed unaffected. Its eyes blazed even brighter. Its long face still bore a maddening smirk. THEN, it said in Lara's head, I WILL TAKE YOU AGAINST YOUR WILL, AND YOU WILL BE NOTHING MORE TO HISTORY THAN A FORGOTTEN SACRIFICE. The monster lunged forward on long articulated legs.

Lara dove to the side, rolling. She fired at the beast again. The shot might have slowed it down a little, but she knew she wasn't going to defeat this thing with bullets. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for other possible weapons. As the monster closed in on her, she pushed herself along the cracked floor. She kicked out at the nearest lamp tripod. It came crashing down, flaming oil spilling all over the creature. Rolling again, she came to her feet in a crouch. Baal had backed away a little, but still seemed unaffected, even though a few flames still licked at his glistening skin.

She dove quickly out of the way as the monster descended upon her. She had seen what one brief touch of its horrible hand had done to Eleanor. She also remembered what its terrible embrace had done to poor Trudy. How could you fight something immune to your weapons, whose touch meant instant death? She was beginning to question her wisdom at facing this thing on her own. But what choice had there been?

She sprinted across the room, diving into the shadows. She came up in a crouch again, her eyes searching again for something she could use against this monster. That's when she realized why this place looked familiar to her.

It was a Phoenician temple. Of course! They all bore the same basic design, the same layout the Phoenician's had used to build King Solomon's temple for him. That one, and every other Phoenician temple, had long since crumbled to dust. But Solomon's temple was well described in the Bible. The first room she'd been in must have been the antechamber or ulam. And this was the main temple, or hekel. Which meant, she thought, as the creature bore down on her once again, that there must be stairs leading up to a broad set of doors in the darkened far end of this room. Behind those doors would lie the holy-of-holies. The home of the god. And possibly the key to stopping it!

Lara dodged the creature's grasp, sliding across the floor. Still in motion, she rolled onto her back, firing again. Baal hesitated. It gave her enough time to get to her feet. Grabbing the flashlight from her belt, she plunged headlong into the darkness at the back of the room. The monster was close behind her.

The stairs were broad, crumbling with age. Lara stumbled up them. The beam of her flashlight bounced around crazily. She made it to the top, almost falling against the rotting olivewood doors. Turning, she shone the beam straight into Baal's face. The creature was almost on top of her again, but it stopped abruptly.

LARA, it said again, in a voice that rumbled in her head like a black river crashing through a canyon in hell, carrying lost, and tortured souls to their ultimate fate. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE. THERE IS NO WAY OUT FOR YOU. YOU CAN STILL BE MY FIRST PRIESTESS, IF YOU OFFER YOURSELF TO ME WILLINGLY. COME TO ME, AND LET ME TASTE YOUR LIFE; LET ME DRINK IT DOWN!

"Do you have a hearing problem, Baal?" Lara scoffed at the monster. "I...said...NEVER!" She yanked the door to the final chamber open, backing inside, pulling it closed behind her. The beam of her torch sliced through the darkness.

After the lavish decoration of the main temple, the holy-of-holies seemed austere. The walls were unadorned, but a great statue of Baal stood in a dark alcove at the back. Beneath it, on a raised dais of gold inlaid marble, rested a large, oddly shaped, polished black stone. The betyl. It was the sacred stone of the god, the binding object that tied it to the Earth. Baal's betyl was said to be a stone retrieved from the underworld, where he once died, but was then resurrected. It was a fabulous artifact, but Lara knew it was the key to stopping the god. She would have to destroy it.

She crouched in front of the statue, laying her flashlight on the floor. She reached out and took the stone in her hands. It felt warm to the touch, as if it were alive. She could see her reflection in its smooth surface. She smiled wryly to herself. She had looked better. Behind her, the olivewood doors suddenly swung open. Lara whirled around, then stood up slowly. Baal was silhouetted against the wavering light from the lamps outside, his body seemingly made of solid shadow.

"It's over Baal," she said to the dark figure. "I have your betyl." She lifted it above her head. The dark god's eyes shimmered brightly. The monster reached out with its long-fingered hand towards her. With all her strength, Lara hurled the sacred stone down at the floor. There was a sudden crack of sound...

...and nothing happened.

Lara looked down at the stone. Her flashlight still lay on the ground. The beam shone across the fractured surface of the floor and fell on the sacred betyl. The stone was undamaged. Lara heard a deep and rumbling chuckle in her mind. She ducked as the creature swung its arm at her. Rolling, she dove for the stone, scooping it up. Dodging the monster's groping hand once again, she darted out into the main temple.

She stared in disbelief at the stone in the flickering lamplight. There wasn't even a crack in it. She grunted, flinging it angrily against the wall of the temple, seeing bits of one of the sphinx images chip away with the impact, but the stone dropped to the floor, still unbroken. She grabbed it again as Baal emerged from the holy-of-holies, rising to his full height. His arms stretched out as if to embrace the temple and all its long dead priests.

Lara heard thunder. The dim light in the high windows flickered and flashed like lightning, and a powerful breeze suddenly swept through the inside of the temple. The flames in the lamps danced wildly, and shadows leaped about like prisoners suddenly freed from their chains. The stone in her hand seemed to burn from within, and took on an eerie aquamarine sheen.

YOU CANNOT DESTROY ME, it roared in her skull. I AM IMMORTAL. EVEN WHEN I DIE, I AM REBORN.

Lara suddenly felt something cold around her feet. She looked down and saw water rushing past, across the floor. The lip of the dolium must have sunk beneath the surface of the ocean. Water was beginning to pour into Baal's domain. She was out of time. If she didn't escape now, she would drown in here and Baal would triumph. If she could do nothing else, then she would take the sacred betyl. At least Baal would be bound to her, forced to follow her.

As the water rushed up around her ankles, she clutched the stone to her breast and sprinted towards the two portals leading out to the antechamber. She nearly tripped over Rudy's corpse as it floated past her. One by one, the lamp tripods were toppling over, their flames dying in the swirling waters.

Lara hazarded a glimpse over her shoulder, and saw the god wading after her. In the darkness ahead of her, she could make out a faint opening. She could hear the seawater crashing through it now. The Stella Blue was going under. Lara felt her chest tighten in panic. She ran towards the opening, diving. The water hit her full force, nearly washing her back inside. She just managed to clutch the lip of the dolium with her free hand. Fighting the torrents of salty water, she dragged herself out.

The stern of the Stella Blue was almost completely underwater. The rain still poured from the dark and violent skies. A huge wave washed across the deck, slamming into Lara, knocking her backwards. She struggled as the wave tried to pull her back with it, down into a watery oblivion. She wished she could let go of the stone and use both her hands, but she knew that was not an option.

Baal would be trapped inside the dolium, but without the stopper, mere water would never hold him. She knew that. She knew he would come for her. But at least she had that advantage. He would not be truly free until he retrieved his betyl. She held onto it as if it were her own child.

Her free hand reached anxiously for the railing. The bow of the Stella Blue was rising into the stormy night, water rushing down in great streams off the hull. Lightning raked the skies above. Lara began to climb up the side deck, the water rushing up behind her, chasing her, as the boat continued to slip downwards into the dark sea.

A sudden thought struck her, settling like ice in her heart. She was going to die here. She'd taken too long inside the dolium. She clung desperately to the rail. The boat was going down, with the storm's wrath raging in the heavens, and there was nothing she could do. She suddenly felt helpless. Her chest heaved, and she felt warm tears on her cheeks. It had all been for nothing. She could let the stone go, and it would make no difference now. Baal had won after all.

A sudden light flared in her eyes, and she heard the chugging sounds of an engine above the howling fury of the storm. It was the pirate vessel. Lara brightened, the hopelessness that had clutched her heart vanishing. She used all her strength to haul herself upwards, even as the water below her grasped frantically at her ankles.

Santiago brought the pirate's boat along side again. Someone on the deck tossed a safety buoy to her. She grabbed it with her free hand; still clutching the sacred stone with her other arm.

The water beneath her suddenly erupted like a geyser. Lara screamed as Baal burst forth from the frothy madness. She yanked her legs up as the monster reached for them. Its eyes blazed with inhuman fury. Lara heaved her body over the rail, her arm in the buoy. She swung down over the waves, grunting as she painfully collided with the hull of the pirate's vessel.

The monster roared its rage, and thunder split the heavens overhead. Lara could feel herself being pulled upwards by strong arms. She looked across to the Stella Blue and saw that Baal was climbing higher. She knew what the creature was going to do, and suspected it had the super-human strength to do it. It was going to get as high as it could on the Stella Blue, then leap across to the other boat. The memory of its words echoed in her mind: With your life force, and those of your remaining companions, I will be strong enough to leave this place once and for all.

Marcus helped Lara over the edge of the gunwale. She collapsed on the deck. "Are you all right?" he shouted.

"I'm fine!" she yelled back at him. "Tell Santiago to get us out of here!"

"What the hell is that thing?" Marcus cried, pointing at the creature. It had almost reached the highpoint on the bow of the Stella Blue, looking like some bizarre and horrendous figurehead.

"It's Baal, ancient Phoenician god of storms. And if we don't get out of here, it will destroy us all!"

Lara got to her feet, pulling out her Uzi. But she realized it was useless. She looked up, the rain beating against her face, and saw the dim outline of the old World War II Browning against the white glare of the flashing lightning. She pointed at it. "I'm going up there to try and slow the creature down. Tell Santiago to get us out of here!"

Marcus nodded and hurried towards the pilothouse. The boat pitched and rocked in the waves as Lara climbed up to the summit, where the old machine gun waited. Baal reached the pulpit of the Stella Blue as she got behind the weapon, twisting it around on its pivot to take aim. The creature looked at her, its eyes burning malevolently through the darkness. It wanted her. It wanted her friends. And it wanted its sacred stone. She looked down at the polished thing still held tightly in her arm. She stared back at the monster, and held the stone up, for it to see.

"You want it, Baal?" she screamed through the tempest, taunting the monster. The pirate vessel started to slowly pull away. The Stella Blue was sinking faster. Lara flung her arm back, then forward. With a groan, she hurled the stone across the gap towards the monster. Baal reached out with its frightening hand, and caught the stone in its long fingers. They curled around the betyl in triumph, as the creature's long grin grew even longer.

Lara yanked the machinegun all the way around. She opened fire, but not at the god. She aimed for the stone. Still held up in the electrically charged air by the god, it made a perfect target. And when a stream of .50 calibre shells slammed into it, they tore it apart, its fragments whirling off into the shrieking winds.

The terrible god of storms stared in shock, up at its empty hand. It let out a torturous scream. It was a scream that emanated from the depths of Hell. It shook the Stella Blue, and even the pirate's vessel, and Lara felt the scream reverberating through her bones. Her teeth chattered, her skin crawled, and her eyes cried tears.

Baal suddenly burst into bright blue and green flames. They licked fervently at his ancient flesh. Even the torrential rains could not douse them. The pirate vessel continued to retreat away as the bow of the Stella Blue began to slip beneath the surface. Still, the ancient god blazed brightly, a beacon of evil. Then there was a sudden flash, more blinding than any flash of lightning. A shockwave erupted, cascading outwards, evaporating the tops of the waves. It hit the pirate's boat, shaking the hull. Lara was tossed backwards, just managing to grab the ladder for support.

And then it was over.

Lara hauled herself up, gazing over the top of the gun, just in time to see the pulpit of the Stella Blue slipping beneath the waves. Almost instantly, the storm began to abate. The sea grew gentler, the rains tapering off to a drizzle. Even the clouds overhead began to part.

Marcus came out onto the deck below her. He looked dazed, in a state of disbelief. "You okay?" he called up to her. She looked down and nodded, and saw a tentative smile appear on his lips. She let out a long breath that she had been holding. Finally letting go of the gun, she half-climbed, half-slid down the ladder to the deck. Marcus rushed over to her and threw his arms around her. She gladly hugged him back. The stars above began to peer through gaps in the clouds, and they could see the lights of Havana off their starboard side.

Marcus let Lara go as Santiago emerged from the pilothouse. Lara saw the young student stiffen a little. His dislike of the Cuban was obvious. But Santiago, or whatever his real name was, had helped to save her life twice now.

"I am glad you are alive, Ms. Croft," he said.

"And I you. I thought I lost you back there," she said, and then added, "And you can call me Lara."

He nodded. "And you may call me Tomas. Tomas Alvarez. For that is my real name."

She took his hand and shook it. "Pleased to meet you, Tomas Alvarez."

"And I must say my farewells now too," he said.

Lara frowned. "You're not coming with us to Miami?"

Alvarez shook his head. "No. The United States government would want too much from me as a defector from Cuba. I have no desire for their endless debriefings. There is a life raft onboard. I will use that to return to Cuba, and hope that you will not need it on your journey back to Florida." He looked up at the clearing sky. "Somehow, I do not think you will." He smiled.

"But what about your own government? You'll have to answer to them, and I don't think they will be quite as accommodating as the American authorities."

"Ah. I will take my chances, Lara." He bowed slightly, wincing a little from his injuries. "Adiós, my friends."

Eleanor had appeared from down below, standing on her good leg. Someone, probably Alvarez, had bound her other leg with splints and rags. "Good-bye," she said.

The others voiced their good-byes as well. Alvarez launched the little life raft into the now calm Caribbean waters and began to motor off towards Havana.

"Can't say I'm sorry to see him go," Marcus said, watching the Cuban from the bow of the pirate's boat.

Lara stood beside him. "I am," she said quietly, but loud enough for Marcus to hear.

At last, she allowed herself to think of Peter. Had she let him down? She didn't know if she could have done anything different. She would never know. A little part of her hurt inside, and would always hurt. She wished she'd had a chance to say something more to him. What she would have said, she had no idea. She was too tired and cold to think about it now, anyway.

She turned away from watching Alvarez. "Florida sounds nice about now," she said. Marcus and Eleanor agreed.

-The End-