That, I didn’t remember. The last thing I could find in my memory was diving at her.
Then the pain.
And the darkness.
I remained crouched, staring into the crack that led nowhere, fighting the emotions threatening to pull me under. If I’d stayed focused that day, I would have eliminated the threat, and everyone would have walked out. No one would have crashedinto the bottle of Lewisite, and no one would have left in a chopper.
“That’s what doesn’t make sense,” Brooke said, her voice steady. Was she not haunted by these memories? “Liquid contact requires proximity. You’d only hit people standing right at the edge. Even if they pressurized it enough to travel more than ten feet, the people at the edges would block it from traveling further.”
A tour group approached, forcing us to stand and assume our tourist personas. The guide, a young Italian woman with short curly hair, stopped her group nearby. “The amphitheater once seated twenty thousand spectators. For modern events, we typically limit capacity to eight thousand for safety reasons.”
“Do you have concerts here?” asked one of her group, a young woman with a Cockney accent.
“We do. In fact, this weekend’s Rebirth of Antiquity concert has been sold out for months.”
A middle-aged woman raised her hand. “Will there be fireworks like last year? My sister said they were spectacular.”
“Yes! The organizers have planned an even larger display this year,” the guide confirmed. “They launch them from the upper rim of the amphitheater, creating a dazzling effect over the entire venue.”
I caught Brooke’s eye immediately. The spark of recognition in her gaze confirmed what I was thinking—an aerial deployment method.
When the tour group moved on, I closed ranks with Brooke and Percival.
She whispered, “Fireworks would provide perfect cover for distributing the powder form.”
What were the tactical implications? “If they incorporate Greek Fire powder into the pyrotechnics?—”
“It would rain down already ignited,” Brooke finished. “Burning at over one thousand degrees, adhering to whatever it touches.”
“While the liquid form comes up through the floor,” Percival added.
Brooke’s face paled. “Dual deployment. Maximum coverage.”
Eight thousand people. Families with children, couples on dates, tourists like the ones we’d just listened to.
“I need to check the upper rim,” I said, studying the rows of seating above us. There weren’t any stairs or gates leading up from the ground, and metal railings lined the entry tunnels. But at the western end, there was a path up to the top that was clear of grass.
Without further discussion, I wandered in that direction, as though heading for the exit. Confidence sold the lie better than elaborate deception. Instead of leaving, I loitered by the short wall, taking a few photos of the steps where vegetation hadn’t taken hold.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Percival and Brooke move closer, studying the information plaques while keeping me in sight. Good. They understood the drill.
With a glance, finding no security guards, I vaulted over the wall and began climbing the steps two at a time. The stone was worn smooth by millennia under ash and centuries of weather, but solid beneath my boots. I moved with purpose, as though I belonged.
At the top tier, I systematically photographed the rim, focusing on spots where fireworks could be set off. The view was spectacular, but I couldn’t afford to be distracted by the scenery.
Metal connectors were embedded in the highest stone blocks at regular intervals. They were perfect anchor points for pyrotechnic equipment.
“Look at that, honey!” I heard Percival say from below, far louder than necessary.
A guard strolled in from the western entrance, glanced around the space, and I switched my camera to take selfies. The guard shouted up in Italian, gesturing emphatically for me to come down.
Time for the confused tourist act.
I called back in French, injecting a genuine-sounding surprise and apology into my tone as I kept taking photos. The key was to act oblivious rather than defiant.
The guard grew more agitated, speaking rapidly into his radio. Backup was coming.
I had maybe two minutes before this became a real problem. I snapped the last few photos I needed, then began my descent, switching to heavily broken English and offering profuse apologies.
