Seven Ancient Wonders - Matthew Reilly [1]
Finished in 282 BC after twelve years of construction, it was the tallest bronze statue ever built. At a stupendous 110 feet, it loomed above even the biggest ship that passed by.
It was crafted in the shape of the Greek Sun-god, Helios—muscled and strong, wearing a crown of olive leaves and a necklace of massive golden pendants, and holding a flaming torch aloft in his right hand.
Experts continue to argue whether the great statue stood astride the entrance to the harbour or at the end of the long breakwater that formed one of its shores. Either way, in its time, the Colossus would have been an awesome sight.
Curiously, while the Rhodians built it in celebration of their victory over the Antigonids (who had laid siege to the island of Rhodes for an entire year), the statue’s construction was paid for by Egypt—by two Egyptian Pharaohs in fact: Ptolemy I and his son, Ptolemy II.
But while it took Man twelve years to build the Colossus of Rhodes, it took Nature 56 years to ruin it.
When the great statue was badly damaged in an earthquake in 226 BC, it was again Egypt who offered to repair it: this time the new Pharaoh, Ptolemy III. It was as if the Colossus meant more to the Egyptians than it did to the Rhodians.
Fearing the gods who had felled it, the people of Rhodes declined Ptolemy III’s offer to rebuild the Colossus and the remainder of the statue was left to lie in ruins for nearly 900 years—until 654 AD when the invading Arabs broke it up and sold it off in pieces.
One mysterious footnote remains.
A week after the Rhodians declined Ptolemy III’s offer to re-erect the Colossus, the head of the mammoth fallen statue—all sixteen feet of it—went missing.
The Rhodians always suspected that it was taken away on an Egyptian freighter-barge that had left Rhodes earlier that week.
The head of the Colossus of Rhodes was never seen again.
ANGEREB SWAMP
BASE OF THE ETHIOPIAN HIGHLANDS
KASSALA PROVINCE, EASTERN SUDAN
14 MARCH, 2006, 4:55 P.M.
6 DAYS BEFORE THE ARRIVAL OF TARTARUS
The nine figures raced through the crocodile-infested swamp on foot, moving fast, staying low.
The odds were stacked against them.
Their rivals numbered in excess of 200 men.
They had only nine.
Their rivals had massive logistical and technical support: choppers, floodlights for night work, and boats of every kind—gunboats, houseboats, communications boats, three giant dredging barges for the digging—and that wasn’t even mentioning the temporary dam they’d managed to build.
The Nine were only carrying what they’d need inside the mine.
And now—the Nine had just discovered—a third force was on its way to the mountain, close behind them, a much larger and nastier force than that of their immediate foes, who were nasty enough.
By any reckoning it was a hopelessly lost cause, with enemies in front of them and enemies behind them, but the Nine kept running anyway.
Because they had to.
They were a last-ditch effort.
The last throw of the dice.
They were the very last hope of the small group of nations they represented.
Their immediate rivals—a coalition of European nations—had found the northern entrance to the mine two days ago and were now well advanced in its tunnel system.
A radio transmission that had been intercepted an hour before revealed that this pan-European force—French troops, German engineers and an Italian project leader—had just arrived at the final entry trap on their side of the mine. Once they breached that, they would be inside the Grand Cavern itself.
They were progressing quickly.
Which meant they were also well versed in the difficulties found inside the mine.
Fatal difficulties.
Traps.
But the Europeans’ progress hadn’t been entirely without loss: three members of their point team had died gruesome deaths in a snare on the first day. But the leader of the European expedition— a Vatican-based Jesuit priest named Francisco del Piero—had not let their