I just stare back at him blankly. He sees that I have no idea what he is talking about. "I'm a former baseball player turned lazy grave digger, and him..." I point to Dad. "He's a book worm with two left feet."

"Right..." He says, laughing. "Basically it's one of the largest hand guns in the world and can take down a bear with one shot." He smiles and winks.

"A bear?" I ask a little awestruck.

"A really big bear," he says proudly.

"And those," asks Dad. He points to the wrist and forearm combination he has on.

"Precautionary, just in case I ever have to fire both simultaneously."

"Precaution for what," I ask.

"So I don't break my arms," Kane says as a matter of fact.

"What?" Dad asks a little taken back.

"You can't fire a Mark XIX with one hand. They kick so hard that you'll snap your wrists. The various armed forces have developed these braces to absorb the torque and keep your arms in one piece."

"Have you ever had to fire both at once?" I can't help but ask.

"Once or twice," he smiles with pride. "Thankfully, I'm ambidextrous and have good aim with both hands. 20/20 vision doesn't hurt either."

"Now you're just bragging," I give him a sly but impressed look and hand him back his miniature weapon of ma.s.s destruction.

"Yes sir, Chip and Dale have gotten me out of a few sc.r.a.pes over the years."

I'm about to ask him why his guns are named after cartoon chipmunks, when he says something that gets both mine and Dad's attention.

"What do you know about, the Three?"

13.

The next morning we catch a quick connecting flight from Algiers to Djanet on what I a.s.sume to be a CIA funded private jet. It's only 8:30AM local time and the temperature is already approaching a balmy 90 degrees. In the hour-and-a-half we have to kill while in the air, Kane fills us in with what Uncle Sam knows about the three ancient elders.

Kane pours us each a drink and sits across from my father and me, facing the two us. He sips his beverage and breathes a relaxed breath, the alcohol calming his tired nerves if only a little.

Neither of us slept well last night. We even stayed at a really cushy hotel that Kane had set up, but the events of the past day had everyone wired and now we're paying for it.

"First off," the big guy says leaning back. "Everything I know is knowledge obtained through decades of research by some people who shall remain nameless. Some you know, others you don't want to know and even others...well let's just say you wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Like who?" Dad asks.

I roll my eyes, "Dad, he just said-"

"Hitler," Kane interrupts.

"Wait...what?" I stammer. "I thought you said you couldn't-"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you any others, but now you know what kind of people have been looking for information on the Three and the seriousness of this."

Dad and I nod in agreement.

"Okay, let me start by saying that all of this is about power."

"Power?" Dad asks.

"Yes, power. Power over the very elements of the Earth itself. There is supposedly knowledge or possibly a weapon of some kind that was left here by an ancient civilization. That populace, as I'm sure you have figured out, is supposedly Atlantis or at least another civilization that is responsible for the Atlantean myth."

"You don't believe its Atlantis?" Dad asks.

"I believe the facts or what I can see with my own eyes," Kane answers. "But that doesn't mean my mind can't be changed."

"What about the Three?" I ask.

"Right," Kane says getting back on track. "The Three is the name given to the last three elders of this ancient-but obviously very advanced culture. They were said to be invincible, never aging or dying...ever. They are also supposed to be the great architects of the ancient city eventually known as Atlantis or Attala."

"Attala?" Dad asks.

"Attala is what some of the local North African tribes call it," he replies.

"There was a fourth elder too, but he had a falling out-if you will-with his brothers. He didn't want to use their special talents for constructive purposes."

"What did he want?" I ask.

"We think he wanted unlimited power and dominion over every living thing on Earth, but we aren't exactly sure."

"Yikes," I say.

"Yep, bad dude."

"You said they were brothers, all four of them?" Dad asks.

"Yes, but we aren't sure if they were actually lineal brothers or blood-brothers, like in a secret sect kind of way."

"Wait a sec, back up Kane. How do you even know that there is anything there to begin with?" I ask. I understand the severity of the situation and that there are others looking for it besides us. The one thing I'm not quite sure of is...

"Have there been other expeditions to Algeria in the past," I continue. "Maybe covert ones that only a select few know about?"

Kane straightens a little. That's all I need to know. Yes there has.

"What happened on those other expeditions?" I ask.

"Expedition."

"What?" I ask not understanding.

"Expedition. As in only one other mission was conducted in the area."

"Why only one?" Dad asks.

"Because, the eight men who went in never came back, they literally just disappeared off the radar, like the sand just swallowed them up. They each had a GPS unit on them and they all failed. The bra.s.s back home just chalked up the loss to a huge sand storm that blew through the area around the time they arrived on location."

"Just like the one that uncovered our dig," Dad says staring blankly out the window of the plane.

"That's what some of the egg-heads back home think too. They think your little site is the same entrance our team tried and failed to find. The difference between now and eight years ago is that we have better tech and better personnel involved."

"How are we better equipped than special forces soldiers that died out here?" I ask.

"Those men were just that, soldiers. They weren't versed in the science or history that is involved here. They see a target and engage. You guys are the most learned men alive in this field right now. Uncle Sam, along with some other very influential people, want you to succeed. They do not want Zero to acquire whatever waits for us beneath the sands of the Sahara."

"Like our own potential deaths?" I ask.

"If it comes to it, yes," counters Kane.

"We aren't soldiers!" I boom. I'm not angry at Kane, just the deadly situation we've been thrown into. We have no proper training, nor the want to put ourselves in the line of fire.

"All we are going to find out there in the burning desert is," I point out my window, "sand...blood and sand."

14.

We are greeted by a burst of unrelenting heat as we exit our flying limo, but mercifully, we are prepared for it. Kane has been ordered to accompany us and has outfitted us with a backpack water device. It's a very streamlined bundle that kind of reminds me of a North Face Borealis hikers pack-it even has the North Face logo on it so it looks genuine. Sticking out of its top is an auto-closing water valve that only opens when sucked on, a nice touch so you don't get sand in it.

The bottom half of the rucksack has its usual storage compartment like a normal bag. The only major difference in our packs versus someone else's is that they are designed to accommodate the Glock 17 9mm handgun, and its three spare magazines neatly inside. The real kicker with these bags, the Tactical-Backpack or Tac-Pac as Kane calls them, is that you can conveniently draw your already loaded weapon from a Velcro-style pocket on the side. So there is no need for a holster.

Even Kane has his dual Eagles tucked away. His is customized so he can draw both at once, one from each side. Rambo eat your heart out.

"Do we really need the guns?" I had asked earlier.

"Do you want to be as unprepared as before if we run into some of the psycho brigade again?" Kane replied.

He got me there. And no...I don't.

He continued, "You got severely lucky in Algiers, Hank. If we come across more people from Zero, I doubt there will only be a small group of them this time."

We enter through the rear of the airport with a grind of sliding doors, the screech of metal-on-metal snapping me back into the now.

It isn't as organized as it was in Algiers, but on the bright side, there are fewer terrorists, which can't be a bad thing, I suppose.

Kane leads the way through security, flashing his credentials. The local airport police stationed here give Kane a wide-eyed glance and step aside. I can't tell if both officers were intimidated by the man's ID or by his sheer ma.s.s. Probably both, I decide.

Five minutes later we exit the airport and walk out to the pick-up area out front which is basically a parking lot.

"Ah, Omar my boy!" Dad yells.

A young man climbs out of a Land Rover and heads our way. He is of average height and build and maybe around 25 years old. Dad strolls towards the newcomer and embraces him.

"Can we trust this guy?" Kane asks.

I glance over and see him with his hand in his pack-no doubt clutching the hand grip of his gun. I step towards him and bend down, pretending to tie my shoe.

"I don't know," I say not looking up. "I've never met him before, but he comes highly recommended from some colleagues back in the States." I stand, "Dad seems to trust him. Just keep an eye on him, okay?"

Kane nods and joins Dad over by the car. It feels weird telling a "company man" what to do but, he is pretty much our own private security. The thought of this six-foot-six war machine as my own personal muscle makes me smile and puts a little pep in my step, making me forget about the heat for a second. Okay, maybe half a second.

I sigh, wiping away a bead of sweat from my face, and join the rest of our party mumbling, "We might as well get the introductions over with."

I step up next to Kane as he reaches out and shakes Omar's hand, "Hi, the name's Kane...Dr. Jeremy Kane."

Both Dad and I quickly glance over to the big man, doing a double take. Dang, his name really is Kane. I could have sworn he was lying in the hospital room when I asked him. He notices our attention and gives us a wink. Omar is too busy wincing from the pain of the vice grip crushing his much smaller hand to notice our reactions.

Kane mercifully releases the slighter man, steps aside, and slaps me hard on the back, "And this is the legendary Hank Boyd, Dr. Boyd's son."

I groan. Kane is laying on the act pretty thick.

Omar grimaces and flexes his hand. Before he looks my way, he gives Kane a venomous look. He turns, "Yes, Mr. Boyd, your father has told me much about you."

He used the word Mr. like it's an insult. I return the favor.

"I see you've met Dr. Kane, he is in charge of security for my father and me. Is that going to be a problem, Mr. Jafari?"

Omar cranes his eyes up at the man, who could easily be a foot taller and over a hundred pounds heavier than him. It's as if J.J. Watt and Rob Gronkowski had a baby. Seriously, Kane is a monster. I think the smaller man's bladder is doing a little tap dance number right now because he's sweating...a lot, even in this heat. Kane gives him a mischievous grin and gives him a wink of his own. It's a look that says, "Please, try me. I dare you."

Omar turns quickly, losing the battle of wits and faces dad, "Right this way Dr. Boyd, my car is fully fueled and ready to take you into town." He climbs into the dust covered S.U.V. and shuts the driver side door, out of ear shot.

Dad turns and gives us a disapproving look.

"What?" I ask, but it's Kane that continues.

"We need to see how he reacts when threatened. You may trust this man, but I don't." The look in his eyes is as intense as starring down a Great White. "If you want me to keep you and your son alive then I need to operate under my own measures. We have no idea who we can trust. As of right now he is in my grey-zone. You two..." He points to us, "Are in my white-zone."

"And Zero?" I ask.