Map of Bones

  Monk woke with a start, sitting up. “What?” he asked blearily.

  “Looks like you’re going on guard duty again,” Gray said. “Unless you want to take a dip?”

  Monk scowled his answer.

  Once the boat was secure and the orange flag raised, the same four divers fell back into the water.

  Rachel bubbled out her buoyancy and sank under the waves.

  Gray’s voice reached her through the radio. “Watch your wrist compasses. Zero in on the anomaly.”

  Rachel studied her compass as she descended. The water was fairly shallow here. Less than ten meters. She reached the sandy bottom quickly. The others dropped around her, hovering like birds.

  “Nothing’s here,” Kat said.

  The seabed was a flat expanse of sand.

  Rachel stared at her compass. She kicked a body length away, then back again. “The anomaly is right here.”

  Gray lowered to the bottom and swept his wrist over the floor. “She’s right.”

  He reached to his other wrist and unsheathed his knife. With the blade in hand, he began stabbing into the soft sand. The blade sank to the hilt each time. Silt stirred up, clouding the view.

  On his seventh stab, the knife plainly jarred, failing to penetrate more than a few centimeters.

  “Got something,” Gray said.

  He sheathed the knife and began digging in the sand. The view grew quickly murky, and Rachel lost sight of him.

  Then she heard him gasp.

  Rachel moved closer. Gray swept back. The disturbed sand dispersed and settled.

  Protruding from the sand was a dark bust of a man.

  “I think that’s magnetite,” Kat said, studying the stone of the sculpture. She swept her wrist compass over the bust. The needle twirled. “Lodestone.”

  Rachel edged closer, staring at the face. There was no mistaking the features. She had seen the same countenance a couple of times today.

  Gray recognized it, too.

  “It’s another sphinx.”

  12:14 P.M.

  GRAY SPENT ten minutes clearing the shoulders and upper torso, reaching the lion’s shape below. There was no doubt it was one of the sphinxes, like the others littered on the seabed.

  “Hiding it among the others,” Vigor said. “I guess that answers the question of when the alchemists hid their treasure here.”

  “After the lighthouse collapsed,” Gray said.

  “Exactly.”

  They hovered around the magnetic sphinx, waiting for the disturbed silt and sand to settle.

  Vigor continued, “This ancient society of mages must have known the location of Alexander’s tomb after Septimus Severus hid it in the third century. They left it undisturbed, letting it safeguard the most valuable scrolls from the lost library. Then perhaps the quake in 1303 not only brought down the lighthouse, but exposed the tomb. They took the opportunity to hide more down there, using the chaotic time after the earthquake to plant their next clue, bury it, and allow the centuries to cover it up again.”

  “And if you’re right,” Gray said, “that pinpoints the date when these clues were planted. Remember, we’d already estimated that the clues were laid around the thirteenth century. We were off by only a few years. It was 1303. The first decade of the fourteenth century.”

  “Hmm…” Vigor drifted closer to the statue.

  “What?”

  “It makes me wonder. In that same decade, the true papacy was chased out of Rome and exiled in France. The antipopes ruled Rome for the next century.”

  “So?”

  “Similarly, the Magi bones were moved from Italy to Germany in 1162, another time when the true pope was chased out of Rome and an antipope sat on the papal seat.”

  Gray followed this train of thought. “So these alchemists hid their stuff whenever the papacy was in jeopardy.”

  “So it would seem. This would suggest that this society of mages had ties to the papacy. Perhaps the alchemists did indeed join the Gnostic Christians of those turbulent times, Christians open to the quest for arcane knowledge, the Thomas Christians.”

  “And this secret society merged with the orthodox church?”

  Vigor nodded in the murky water. “When the overall church came under threat, so did the secret church. So they sought safeguards. First moving the bones to safety in Germany during the twelfth century. Then during the embattled years of the exile, they hid the true heart of their knowledge.”

  “Even if this is true, how does this help us find Alexander’s tomb?” Kat asked.

  “Just as the clues that led to Saint Peter’s tomb were buried in the stories of Catholicism, the clues here might be tied to the mythologies of Alexander. Greek mythologies.” Vigor ran a gloved finger down the face of the statue. “Why else mark the gateway with a sphinx?”

  “The riddle masters of the Greeks,” Gray mumbled.

  “And the monsters killed you outright if you didn’t answer them correctly,” Vigor reminded them. “Perhaps choosing this symbol is a warning.”

  Gray studied the sphinx as the sand cleared, its expression enigmatic. “Then we’d better solve this riddle.”

  12:32 P.M.

  FINAL DESCENT INTO ALEXANDRIA

  THE GULFSTREAM IV private jet received clearance from the tower to land. Seichan listened to the chatter of the cockpit crew through the open doorway. She sat in the seat nearest the door. Sunlight blazed through the window on her right.

  A large form stepped to her left.

  Raoul.

  She continued to stare out the window as the jet tilted on a wing over the violet-blue of the Mediterranean and lined up for the final approach to the runway.

  “What’s the word from your contact on the ground?” Raoul asked, biting off each word.

  He must have noted her using the jet’s air-phone. She fingered the dragon charm on her necklace. “The others are still in the water. If you’re lucky, they may solve this mystery for you.”

  “We won’t need them for that.” Raoul stepped back to join his men, a team of sixteen, including the Court’s master adept.

  Seichan had already met the esteemed Vatican bibliophile, Dr. Alberto Menardi, a lanky silver-haired man with a pocked complexion, thick lips, narrow eyes. He sat in the back of the plane, nursing a broken nose. She had a full dossier on him. His ties to a certain Sicilian criminal organization ran deep. It seemed even the Vatican could not keep such weeds from taking root in their soil. Then again, she could not discount the keen edge to the man’s mind. He had an IQ three points above Einstein.

  It had been Dr. Alberto Menardi who, fifteen years ago, had discerned from the Dragon Court’s library of Gnostic texts the ability of electromagnetism to unlock the energy of these superconducting metals. He had overseen the research project in Lausanne, Switzerland, and tested the effects on animal, vegetable, and mineral. And who would miss the occasional lone Swiss backpacker? These last experiments would turn the stomach of even the worst Nazi scientists.

  The man also had a disturbing fetish for young girls.

  But not for sex.

  For sport.

  She had seen some of the pictures and wished she hadn’t. If she hadn’t already been instructed by the Guild to eliminate the man, she would have done so on her own.

  The plane began its final descent.

  Somewhere far below, the Sigma team labored.

  They were no threat.

  It would be as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.

  12

  RIDDLE OF THE SPHINX

  JULY 26, 12:41 P.M.

  ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT

  REMEMBER THAT damn fish,” Monk radioed from the boat above.

  Twelve feet down, Gray frowned up at the bobbing keel overhead. They had spent the last five minutes ruling out various options. Maybe the sphinx sat atop a tunnel. But how would they move a ton of stone? Levitation was discussed, using the amalgam, like back at St. Peter’s. Gray had a test tube of the powder from his research on th
e Milan bones. But to activate it would require electricity of some sort…not wise in water.

  “What fish are you talking about, Monk?” Gray asked. He had seen enough fish down here to turn him off seafood.

  “From the first riddle,” Monk answered. “You know. The painted fish in the catacombs.”

  “What about it?”

  “I can see you guys and the statue through the Aqua-Vu camera. The sphinx is facing toward that big fort.”

  Gray stared at the statue. From here, where visibility was no greater than five yards, it was hard to get the bigger picture. Monk had the better perspective. And the bigger picture was his area of expertise, seeing the forest through the trees.

  “The catacombs…” Gray mumbled, understanding Monk’s intent.

  Could it be that easy?

  “Remember,” Monk continued, “how we had to follow the direction the fish was facing to find our next clue? Maybe the sphinx is facing toward the tunnel opening.”

  “Monk could be right,” Vigor said. “These clues were planted in the early fourteenth century. We should be considering the problem from the perspective of that era’s level of technology. They didn’t have scuba gear at the time. But they did have compasses. The sphinx may be nothing but a magnetic road marker. You use your compass to find it. Swim down to take a peek at where it’s facing and move onto shore.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Gray said. “Monk, keep the boat anchored here until we’re sure. We’ll swim toward shore.”

  Gray kicked away from the statue. He waited until he was far enough away to get a good compass fix without the magnetic interference of the lodestone. “Okay, let’s see where this leads.”

  He set off. The others trailed behind him. They stuck close together.

  The shore was not far. The spit of land rose steeply. The sandy bottom ended abruptly at a tumbled maze of stone blocks. Man-made.

  “Must have once been a section of the Pharos Lighthouse,” Vigor said.

  Barnacles and anemones had taken over the area, forming it into their own reef. Crabs scrabbled and tiny fish darted.

  “We should spread out,” Kat said. “Search the area.”

  “No.” Gray intuitively understood what needed to be done. “It’s like the magnetic sphinx hidden among the other sphinxes.” He kicked off the bottom, traveling up the reefscape. He kept one arm fixed in front of him, watching the wrist compass.

  It didn’t take long.

  Passing over one block, his compass needle pitched and rolled. He was only four yards from the surface. The front of the block was about two feet square.

  “Here,” he said.

  The others joined him.

  Kat took a blade and scraped off the accumulation of sealife. “Hematite again. Less strongly magnetic. You’d never notice it unless you were looking for it.”

  “Monk,” Gray said.

  “Yeah, boss.”

  “Bring the boat over here and drop anchor.”

  “On my way.”

  Gray searched the edges of the block. It was cemented to its neighbors—above, below, and to the sides—by coral, sand, and dense accumulations of rough-shelled mussels.

  “Everyone pick a side and dig the edges clear,” he ordered. He pictured the hematite slab under Saint Peter’s tomb. It had covered a secret tunnel. He had no doubt that they were on the right track.

  For once.

  In a couple of minutes, the block was cleared.

  The beat of a propeller echoed leadenly through the water.

  Monk approached the shoreline slowly. “I can see you guys,” he said. “A bunch of striped frogs sitting on a rock.”

  “Lower the anchor,” Gray said. “Slowly.”

  “Here it comes.”

  As the prong of heavy steel dropped from the keel, Gray swam over and helped guide it to the hematite block. He jammed a corner into a gap between the block and its neighbor.

  “Winch it up,” Gray ordered.

  Monk retracted the anchor line. It grew taut.

  “Everybody back,” Gray warned.

  The block rocked. Sand billowed from it. Then the chunk of stone tipped loose. It had only been about a foot thick. It rolled down the cliff face, bouncing with muffled crashes, then landed heavily on the sandy floor.

  Gray waited for the silt to clear. Pebbles continued to rain down the wall of rock. He moved forward. In the gap-toothed opening left by the dislodged stone, a dark space loomed.

  Gray flicked on the flashlight on his wrist. He pointed it into the opening. The light illuminated a straight tunnel, angled slightly upward. It was a tight squeeze. No room for air tanks.

  Where did it lead?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Gray reached to the buckles securing his air tank. He shimmied out of them.

  “What are you doing?” Rachel asked.

  “Someone’s got to go take a look.”

  “We could unrig the boat’s Aqua-Vu camera,” Kat said. “Use a fishing pole or an oar to push the camera inside.”

  It wasn’t a bad plan—but it would take time.

  Time they didn’t have.

  Gray settled his tank to a shelf of rock. “I’ll be right back.” He took a deep breath, unhooked the regulator hose from his mask, then turned to face the tunnel.

  It would be snug.

  He remembered the riddle of the Sphinx. How it described the first stage of man. Crawling on all fours. It was a fitting way to enter.

  Gray ducked his head, arms forward, flashlight leading. He kicked off and sailed into the cramped tunnel.

  As the tunnel swallowed him up, he remembered Vigor’s earlier warning about the riddle of the Sphinx.

  Get it wrong…and you were dead.

  1:01 P.M.

  AS GRAY’S flippers vanished into the tunnel, Rachel held her breath.

  It was foolhardy madness. What if he got stuck? What if a section of the tunnel collapsed? One of the most dangerous forms of scuba diving was cave diving. Only those with a death wish enjoyed that sport.

  And they had air tanks.

  She clutched the edge of the rockface with her gloved fingers. Uncle Vigor shifted to her side. He placed his hand over hers, urging confidence.

  Kat crouched by the opening. The woman’s flashlight pierced the dark tunnel. “I can’t see him.”

  Rachel’s grip on the rock tightened.

  Her uncle felt her flinch. “He knows what he’s doing. He knows his limits.”

  Does he?

  Rachel had recognized the edge of wildness about him in the last few hours. It both thrilled her and scared her. She had spent enough time with him. Gray did not think like other people. He operated at the fringes of common sense, trusting his quick thinking and reflexes to pull him out of tight scrapes. But the sharpest mind and fastest reflexes would not help you if a wall of rock dropped on top of your head.

  A chop of words reached her. “—can—clear—okay—”

  It was Gray.

  “Commander,” Kat said loudly, “you’re breaking up.”

  “Hang—”

  Kat glanced at them. Through her mask, her frown was clear.

  “Is this better?” Gray said, the reception steadier.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “I was out of water. Had to duck my head back down.” His voice sounded excited. “The tunnel is short,” he said. “A straight shot angled up. If you take a deep breath and kick a bit with your fins, you’ll pop right up here.”

  “What did you find?” Uncle Vigor asked.

  “Some stone tunnels. Looks solid enough. I’m going to push forward and explore.”

  “I’m going with you,” Rachel blurted out. She struggled with the buckles on her vest.

  “First let me make sure it’s safe.”

  Rachel shrugged out of her air tank and vest and propped them into a crevice. Gray wasn’t the only bold one. “I’m coming up.”

  “Me too,” her uncle said.
>
  Rachel took a breath and undid her hose. Free, she swam to the tunnel opening and ducked through. It was pitch dark. In her haste, she had forgotten to turn on her flashlight. But as she flicked her legs and pushed deeper, a ripple of light appeared only three meters ahead. Her buoyancy helped propel her. The light grew. The tunnel widened to either side.

  In a matter of moments, she popped out into small pool.

  Gray frowned at her. He stood on the stone bank that lipped the circular pool. A drum-shaped chamber opened around her. A man-made cave. The roof was corbeled in narrowing rings, giving it the appearance of being inside a tiny step pyramid.

  Gray held out an arm for her. She didn’t refuse, gawking at the chamber. He helped haul her out.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” he said.

  “And you shouldn’t have gone,” she countered, but her eyes were still on the blocks of stone around her. “Besides, if this place has withstood an earthquake that toppled the Pharos Lighthouse, I think it can handle my footsteps.”

  At least, she hoped so.

  1:04 P.M.

  A MOMENT later, Vigor appeared, splashing up into the pool

  Gray sighed. He should’ve known better than to try to keep these two away.

  Rachel shed her mask and pushed back her hood. She shook loose her hair, then bent to help the monsignor out of the water.

  Gray kept his mask in place and ducked his head under the water. The radio worked best with water contact.

  “Kat, maintain a post by the tunnel exit. Once we’re out of the water, we’ll lose communication pretty quickly. Monk, if there’s any trouble, relay it to Kat, so she can fetch us.”

  He received affirmatives from both. Kat sounded irritated.

  Monk was glad to stay where he was. “You go ahead. I’ve pretty much had my fill of crawling around in tombs.”

  Gray straightened and finally pulled away his own mask. The air smelled surprisingly fresh, if not a tad crusty with algae and salt. There must be a few crevices to the surface.

  “A tumulus,” Vigor said, free of his own mask. He eyed the stone ceiling. “An Etruscan tomb design.”

  Two tunnels led out from here, angled apart. Gray was anxious to explore. One was taller than the other, but narrower, barely wide enough for one man to pass through. The other was low, requiring one to hunch a bit, but it was wider.