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coming in contact with a mysterious blue man. This situation had definitely never been covered by any of her textbooks or instructors. High rises, jungles, desert terrain, urban nightspots and alleys, but never the floor of the Pacific Ocean.
    It was possible that she hadn’t died, that the Russian had taken her somewhere for medical treatment and then had her shot full of drugs, the better to soften her up for interrogation. But that seemed out of character for Varenkov. If he’d suspected that she was there to kill him and he wanted to take her prisoner, a single bullet to the kneecap would have been sufficient to put her out of action. No, he’d definitely intended to eliminate her. And if she was being held for ransom or whatever, there were a lot of other scenarios more consistent with Varenkov’s organization.
    She had to consider that she really was somewhere beneath the surface of the Pacific in a city called Lemoria. She’d heard the name before, but in the realm of myth, filed in the same category as Atlantis and Shangri-La. Lemoria was supposed to be an ancient civilization in the Pacific, pre-dating the Old Kingdom in Egypt that had been destroyed by earthquakes, erupting volcanoes, and tidal waves. Nowhere had Ree ever read that Lemoria was beneath the sea, or that it existed anywhere but in legend.
    In any case, wherever she was, she had to get out and report back to her superiors. She had to explain what had happened and why she’d failed to complete her mission. How she was going to accomplish this, she wasn’t sure, but it hadn’t been the first time she’d found herself in deep water without a paddle.
    She’d set about finding a way out of here just as soon as she felt stronger. She just needed to get a little sleep ... make a plan. She yawned and blinked, trying to shake the heavy feeling of exhaustion that had settled over her. Soon, she decided, soon, but her eyes were already closing and her limbs were losing their strength. She slipped to the floor and fell into a deep, almost trance-like slumber.
     
    “You’re to make it appear that he’s escaped,” Caddoc said. “Tell him anything, but get him out of the cell and far enough away that you can dispose of the body without anyone being the wiser.” He lowered his voice. “Have I made myself clear? No mistakes and no excuses. I want him dead before the tide turns.”
    The muscular figure in the shadows nodded.
    “Cut off his right hand. Bring it to me, and you’ll be suitably rewarded.” Not that he didn’t trust his liegemen, but it never paid to get sloppy.
    Alexandros has a scar between his thumb and index finger. Caddoc had been teaching his younger brother the finer points of swordplay when Alex was ten or eleven, and the brat had been slow to get his guard up. A pity the blade hadn’t cut deeper. A maimed prince could never mount the throne of Atlantis. It would have been the perfect solution then, but not now. Alexandros, minus a hand, would still be as dangerous as a moray eel. Dead, he would pose no more problems.
    “And whatever you do, don’t mention my name when you’re moving him,” Caddoc warned. “He doesn’t know I’m here. If he did, he might be suspicious. The two of us have never been what you’d call close.”
    The warrior grunted and nodded a second time.
    “Don’t fail me in this,” Caddoc said, resting a hand lightly on the hilt of his ivory-handled scimitar. “Because if he doesn’t die before the next tide, you will. And, I guarantee you won’t care for the manner of your passing.”

CHAPTER 4
     
    M organ, Poseidon, high king of Atlantis, stood with his beloved wife Rhiannon and their children on the great balcony of the royal palace overlooking the city. Both king and queen were splendid in full court regalia and wore the priceless jeweled crowns that had been crafted in the mists of time. Their young daughter, the Princess Danu, was garbed in a simple lavender tunic; her delicate coronet a