by
Two thousand years ago, a machine was forged by brilliant minds whose wisdom was outstripped by their thirst for power. Rather than being a mere mechanical calendar, the Antikythera Mechanism in reality harnessed a formidable and frightening power — one that could make or break the world. Men rose up and fought the Mechanism's owners, stopping them from using its psychic force for destruction. They destroyed the device, burying it — and themselves — in the depths of the Aegean sea.
But the knowledge to rebuild it remained, and attracted power-hungry individuals who would stop at nothing to control it. When two archaeologists studying the Mechanism are killed, an unlikely team of heroes come to the horrifying realization that it's all starting again — an elderly minister, a student with prophetic dreams, an unassuming secretary and her best friend, a young and idealistic news reporter, and a skeptical university professor are drawn into a web of intrigue and danger. If the Mechanism is rebuilt, it will unleash an unimaginable cataclysm.
Only they have the ability to stop it.
Publisher: Independently Published
Cover Artists:
Genres:
Tropes: Ancient Weapon, Band of Misfits, Conspiracy, Fellowship, Powerful Artifact
Word Count: 92.939
Setting: small town in upstate New York, U.S.A.
Languages Available: English
Tropes: Ancient Weapon, Band of Misfits, Conspiracy, Fellowship, Powerful Artifact
Word Count: 92.939
Setting: small town in upstate New York, U.S.A.
Languages Available: English
By the time Dr. Lise Verhoeven made her second transfer on the London Underground, she was nearly certain that she was being followed.
READ MOREHer pursuer was being careful not to appear threatening. That much was clear. But there were three individuals who were possibilities, unless whoever was tailing her was being even more stealthy than she suspected. In order of likelihood, they were: a conspicuously American twenty-something with tousled black hair and a backpack, who had followed her onto the train at Canons Park, and now had made two transfers with her, first at Wembley Park and then at Kings Cross St. Pancras; a tweedy university don type, almost comically stereotypical, who was reading a book of philosophy and watching her when he thought she wasn't looking; and a dowdy grandmother, with snowy-white hair and a flowered dress, who had bumped into her rather hard when she got on at Baker Street, apologized profusely, and now sat with her handbag in her lap, both hands primly clutching the strap, smiling in a benevolent way at her fellow travelers.
She was banking on the American. He seemed the type that they'd hire to follow her. The don looked like he wanted to ask her to lunch, and the grandma was light years away from threatening. Although she did have an odd accent herself.
“I'm so very sorry, dear, how clumsy I am,” she'd said, in a fluttery, distressed fashion, when she collided with Lise. It hadn't sounded British, that was certain, but neither was it clearly American, or Australian, or any of the other accents of English with which Lise was familiar.
Of course, her pursuer might not be any of the three. It might be someone else entirely, someone completely unobtrusive.
Or no one at all. Perhaps she was simply being paranoid.
COLLAPSE
