Map of Bones

  Gray shook his head and climbed the bank. He kept his arm around Rachel, helping her. Her continuous shivering slowly subsided to occasional chilled shudders.

  They reached the top and found themselves at the edge of a street. A park lay beyond. And farther up the hill, St. Peter’s Basilica glowed golden against the night sky. Up there, sirens blared and emergency lights flickered in hues of red and blue.

  “Let’s find out what happened,” Gray said.

  “And find a hot bath,” Monk grumped.

  Gray didn’t argue.

  11:38 P.M.

  AN HOUR later, Rachel sat wrapped in a warm, dry blanket. She still wore her damp clothes, but at least the trek here and the heated arguments with a series of stubborn guards had warmed her considerably.

  They were all ensconced in the offices of the Holy See’s Secretary of State. The room was decorated with frescoes and outfitted with plush chairs and two long divans that faced each other. Seated around the room were Cardinal Spera, General Rende, and a very relieved uncle.

  Uncle Vigor sat beside Rachel, her hand in his. He hadn’t let go since they had broken through the cordon and gained access to this inner sanctum.

  They had gone over a preliminary account of events.

  “And the Dragon Court is gone,” Gray asked.

  “Even the bodies,” Vigor said. “It took us ten minutes to break through the lower door. All we found were some discarded weapons. They must’ve left the way they came in…through the roof.”

  Gray nodded.

  “At least the bones of Saint Peter are safe,” Cardinal Spera said. “The damage to the basilica and the necropolis can be repaired. If we had lost the relics…” He shook his head. “We owe you all a large debt.”

  “And no one in attendance at the memorial service died,” Rachel said, equally relieved.

  General Rende held up a folder. “Cuts and bumps, bruises, a few broken bones. More damage was done by the trampling crowd than from the series of quakes.”

  Cardinal Spera absently twisted the two gold rings of his station, one on each hand, switching back and forth, a nervous gesture. “What about the cavern below the tomb? What did you find?”

  Rachel frowned. “There was—”

  “It was too dark to see clearly,” Gray said, cutting her off. He met her eyes, apologetic but firm. “There was a large slab that had some writing on it, but I suspect that the firebomb will have scorched the surface clean. We may never know what was there.”

  Rachel understood his reluctance to speak plainly. The head prefect of the Archives had vanished during the confusion, disappearing with the Dragon Court. If Preffetto Alberto worked with the Court, who else might be a part of the conspiracy? Cardinal Spera had already promised to investigate Alberto’s room and private papers. Maybe it would lead somewhere.

  In the meantime, discretion was important.

  Gray cleared his throat. “If this debriefing is finished, I appreciate the Vatican’s hospitality in offering us a suite of rooms.”

  “Certainly,” Cardinal Spera stood. “I’ll have someone show you there.”

  “I’d also like to take another look around the Scavi myself. See if anything was missed.”

  General Rende nodded. “I can send you with one of my men.”

  Gray turned to Monk and Kat. “I’ll see you back up in the rooms.” His eyes flicked to include Rachel and Vigor.

  Rachel nodded, understanding the silent command.

  Speak to no one.

  They would talk together later in private.

  Gray headed out with General Rende.

  Rachel watched him leave, remembering those arms around her. She tightened the blanket about her shoulders. It was not the same.

  11:43 P.M.

  GRAY SEARCHED the mausoleum where he had hidden his gear. He found his pack where he had left it, unmolested.

  Beside him, a young carabiniere stood as stiffly as his uniform was starched. The red stripes down the edges of his suit ran as straight as plumb lines, the white sash a perfect ninety-degree angle across his chest. The silver emblem on his hat looked spit-polished.

  He eyed the pack as if Gray had just stolen it.

  Gray did not bother to explain. He had too much on his mind. Though his backpack was still here, his laptop was gone. Someone had taken it. Only one person would steal the computer and leave the pack behind, someone conspicuously absent during the evening’s events.

  Seichan.

  Angry, Gray stalked back up out of the necropolis. As he was escorted, he barely noted the courtyards, stairs, and hallways. His mind worked feverishly. After five minutes of hiking and climbing, he pushed inside the team’s suite of rooms, leaving his escort outside.

  The main room was opulent with gold leaf, embroidered furniture, and rich tapestries. A massive crystal chandelier filled a coved ceiling painted with clouds and cherubs.

  Candles flickered in wall sconces and tabletop candelabras.

  Kat sat in one of the chairs. Vigor in another. They had been in conversation as he entered. They had changed into thick white robes, as if this were a suite at the Ritz.

  “Monk’s in the bath,” Kat said, nodding to one side.

  “As is Rachel,” Vigor added, pointing an arm toward the other side. All their rooms shared this common living space.

  Kat noted his pack. “You found some of our gear.”

  “But not the laptop. I think Seichan nabbed it.”

  Kat raised one eyebrow.

  Gray felt too filthy to sit in any of the chairs, so he paced the room. “Vigor, can you get us out of here unseen in the morning?”

  “I…guess. If need be. Why?”

  “I want us off the map again as soon as possible. The less anyone knows of our whereabouts, the better.”

  Monk entered the room. “We going somewhere?” He dug in an ear with a finger. A butterfly bandage closed the cut over his eye. He wore a white robe, too, which he had left open. At least there was a towel around his waist.

  Before Gray could answer, the door on the opposite side opened. Rachel entered barefooted and robed, with her sash tied snugly. But as she strode toward the group, her robe still showed calf and much of her upper thigh. Her hair was freshly shampooed, wet and tousled. She finger-combed it into submission, but Gray liked it better wild.

  “Commander?” Monk asked, dropping heavily into a chair. He kicked his legs up, adjusting his towel appropriately.

  Gray took a deep swallow. What was I saying?

  “Where are we going?” Kat prompted him.

  “To find the next clue on this journey,” Gray said, clearing his throat, tightening his voice. “After what we saw this evening, do we want the Dragon Court to gain whatever knowledge lies at the end of this treasure hunt?”

  No one argued.

  Monk picked at his bandage. “What the hell did happen tonight?”

  “I may have some idea.” Gray’s words drew all their full attention. “Is anyone familiar with Meissner fields?”

  Kat raised a hand halfway. “I’ve heard that term used in reference to superconductors.”

  Gray nodded. “When a charged superconductor is exposed to a strong electromagnetic field, a Meissner field develops. The strength of this field is proportional to the intensity of the magnetic field and the amount of power in the superconductor. It is a Meissner field that allows superconductors to levitate in a magnetic field. But other, stranger effects have been seen when manipulating superconductors, postulating other effects from Meissner fields. Inexplicable energy bursts, true antigravity, even distortions in space.”

  “Is that what happened in the basilica?” Vigor asked.

  “The activation of the amalgam, both here and in Cologne, was accomplished with nothing more than a pair of large electromagnetic plates.”

  “Big magnets?” Monk asked.

  “Tuned to a specific energy signature to release the power laying dormant in the m-state superconductor.”

&nb
sp; Kat stirred. “And the released energy—this Meissner field—levitated the tomb…or at least made it weigh less. But what about the electrical storm inside the basilica?”

  “I can only guess. The bronze and gold canopy over the papal altar lies directly above Saint Peter’s tomb. I think the metal columns of the canopy acted like giant lightning rods. They siphoned some of the energy given off below and blasted it upward.”

  “But why would these ancient alchemists want to harm the basilica?” Rachel asked.

  “They wouldn’t,” Vigor answered. “They didn’t. Remember, we estimated that these clues were laid sometime during the thirteenth century.”

  Gray nodded.

  Vigor paused, then rubbed his beard. “In fact, it would’ve been easy to construct the secret chamber during that same time period. The Vatican was mostly empty. It did not become the seat of papal power until 1377, when the popes returned from their century-long exile in France. Prior to that, the Lateran Palace in Rome had been the papal seat. So the Vatican was unimportant and unwatched during the thirteenth century.”

  Vigor turned to Rachel. “So the electrical storm could not be the alchemists’ fault. Bernini’s baldacchino wasn’t installed until the 1600s. Centuries after the clues had been laid here. The storm had to be an unfortunate accident.”

  “Unlike what happened in Cologne,” Gray countered. “The Dragon Court purposefully tainted those Communion wafers with m-state gold. I think they used the parishioners as guinea pigs in some vile experiment. Their first field test. To judge the strength of the amalgam, to validate their theories. The ingested m-state gold acted like the bronze canopy here. It absorbed the energy of the Meissner field, electrocuting the parishioners from the inside out.”

  “All those deaths,” Rachel said.

  “Nothing more than an experiment.”

  “We must stop them,” Vigor asserted, his voice brittle.

  Gray nodded. “But first we have to figure out where to go next. I memorized the drawing. I can sketch it out.”

  Rachel glanced to him, then to her uncle.

  “What?” Gray asked.

  Vigor shifted and pulled forth a folded piece of paper. He leaned forward and smoothed it on the table. It was a map of Europe.

  Gray frowned.

  “I recognized the line drawing on the rock,” Rachel said. “The tiny river delta gave it away, especially if you live along the Mediterranean. Watch.”

  Rachel leaned forward and made a square box of her fingers, as if she were sizing up a photo shot. She laid it atop the eastern end of the map.

  Gray stared down, as did the others. The enclosed section of the coastline was a rough match to the etched line drawing on the hematite slab.

  “It’s a map,” he said.

  “And the glowing star…” Rachel met his eyes.

  “There must’ve been a tiny deposit of m-state gold imbedded in the slab. It absorbed the Meissner field energy and ignited.”

  “Marking a spot on the map.” Rachel placed a finger on the paper.

  Gray leaned closer. A city lay at her fingertip, at the mouth of the Nile, where it drained into the Mediterranean.

  “Alexandria,” Gray read. “In Egypt.”

  He lifted his eyes, his face inches from Rachel’s. Their eyes locked as he looked down upon her. Both froze for a heartbeat. Her lips parted slightly as if she were going to say something but forgot her words.

  “The Egyptian city was a major bastion of Gnostic study,” Vigor said, breaking the spell. “Once the home of the famed Library of Alexandria, a vast storehouse of ancient knowledge. Founded by Alexander the Great himself.”

  Gray straightened. “Alexander. You mentioned he was one of the historical figures who knew about the white powder of gold.”

  Vigor nodded, eyes bright.

  “Another magi,” Gray said. “Could he be the fourth Magi we were instructed to seek?”

  “I can’t say for sure,” Vigor answered.

  “I can,” Rachel replied, her voice certain. “The verse in the riddle…it specifically refers to a lost king.”

  Gray remembered the riddle about the fish. Where it drowns, it floats in darkness and stares to the lost king.

  “What if it wasn’t just allegorical?” Rachel insisted. “What if it was literal?”

  Gray didn’t understand, but Vigor’s eyes widened.

  “Of course!” he said. “I should have thought of that.”

  “What?” Monk asked.

  Rachel explained, “Alexander the Great died at a young age. Thirty-three. His funeral and internment were well documented in the historical record. His body was laid in state in Alexandria.” She tapped the map. “Only…only…”

  Vigor finished for her, too excited. “His tomb vanished.”

  Gray stared down at the map. “Making him the lost king,” he mumbled. His gaze swept the room. “Then we know where we have to go next.”

  11:56 P.M.

  THE IMAGE on the laptop played through once again, without sound, video only. From the appearance of the Dragon Court, through the escape of the Sigma team. There continued to be no answers. Whatever lay below in Saint Peter’s tomb remained a mystery.

  Disappointed, he closed the laptop and leaned back from his desk.

  Commander Pierce had not been entirely forthcoming at the debriefing. His lie had been easy to read. The commander had discovered something in the tomb.

  But what had he found? How much did he know?

  Cardinal Spera leaned back, twisting the gold ring around his finger.

  It was time to end all this.

  DAY THREE

  11

  ALEXANDRIA

  JULY 26, 7:05 A.M.

  OVER THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA

  THEY’D BE in Egypt in two hours.

  Aboard the private jet, Gray inventoried his pack. Director Crowe had managed to outfit them with new supplies and weapons. Even laptops. The director had also had the foresight to move their rented Citation X plane down from Germany to Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci International Airport.

  Gray checked his watch. They had taken off half an hour ago. The two hours remaining until they landed in Alexandria was all the time the group had to strategize. The few hours of downtime in Rome had at least helped revive the group. They had left before dawn, sneaking out of Vatican City without alerting anyone of their departure.

  Director Crowe had arranged additional cover at his end, setting up a dummy flight plan to Morocco. He had then used his contacts with National Reconnaissance Office to change their call signs in mid-flight as they turned for Egypt. It was the best they could do to cover their tracks.

  Now there remained only one detail to iron out.

  Where to begin their search in Alexandria?

  To answer this, the Citation X’s cabin had been turned into a research think tank. Kat, Rachel, and Vigor all hunched over workstations. Monk was up in the cockpit, coordinating transportation and logistics once on the ground. The man had already taken apart and inspected his new Scattergun. He kept it with him. As he stated, “I feel naked without it. And trust me, you wouldn’t want that.”

  In the meantime, Gray had his own investigation to pursue. Though it was not directly related to the immediate question, he intended to research further into the mystery of these m-state superconductors.

  But first…

  Gray stood and crossed to the trio of researchers. “Any headway?” he asked.

  Kat answered, “We’ve divided our efforts. Scouring all references and documents beginning before Alexander’s birth and continuing through his death and the eventual disappearance of his tomb.”

  Vigor rubbed his eyes. He’d had the least sleep of any of them. A single hour nap. The monsignor had taken it upon himself to do some further research among the stacks at the Vatican Archives. He was sure that the head prefect of the libraries, the traitor Dr. Alberto Menardi, was the mastermind behind solving the riddles for the Dragon Court. Vigor had hop
ed to track the prefect’s footsteps, to gain some additional insight. But little had been discerned.

  Kat continued, “Mystery still surrounds Alexander. Even his parentage. His mother was a woman named Olympias. His father was King Philip II of Macedonia. But there’s some disagreement here. Alexander came to believe his father was a god named Zeus Ammon, and that he himself was a demigod.”

  “Not exactly humble,” Gray said.

  “He was a man of many contradictions,” Vigor said. “Prone to drunken rages, but thoughtful in his strategy. Fierce in his friendships, but murderous when crossed. He dabbled with homosexuality, but married both a Persian dancer and the daughter of a Persian king, this last in an attempt to unite Persia and Greece. But back to his parentage. It was well known that his mother and father hated each other. Some historians believe Olympias may have had a hand in assassinating King Philip. And what’s interesting is that one writer, Pseudo-Callisthenes, claimed Alexander was not the son of Philip, but instead was the son of an Egyptian magician to the court, named Nectanebo.”

  “A magician…as in magi?” Gray understood the implication.

  “Whoever his parents truly were,” Kat continued, “he was born on July 20, 356 B.C.”

  Vigor shrugged. “But even that might not be true. On that same date, the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus burned down. One of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world. The historian Plutarch wrote that Artemis herself was ‘too busy taking care of the birth of Alexander to send help to her threatened temple.’ Some scholars believe the choice of date might be propaganda, the true date of Alexander’s birth moved to match this portentous event, portraying the king as a phoenix rising from the ashes.”

  “And a rise it was,” Kat said. “Alexander lived only to thirty-three, but he conquered most of the known world during his short life. He defeated King Darius of Persia, then went on to Egypt, where he founded Alexandria, then on to Babylonia.”

  Vigor finished, “Eventually he moved east into India, to conquer the Punjab region. The same region where Saint Thomas would eventually baptize the Three Magi.”