By John Farris
Near-naked, flagrantly male, the Minotaur loomed out of the dark places of Greek mythology. Roaring, bull-headed, the creature advanced. The razor-sharp Cretan axe swung murderously, slicing through the air, through flesh, through bone.
One by one its enemies died.
Out of the past too came the plague – long-dormant seeds awakening to destroy. The victims would be legion, their deaths horrible.
Yet behind the killing lay a plan, a purpose.
A malign twentieth-century intelligence was calling up this hideous visitation.