Map of Bones

  “Do you think it’s hinting that we must make this journey ourselves, follow the alchemists to solve their last great mystery?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But how do we do that?”

  Vigor shook his head. He had an idea, but he needed more time to think about it. Kat seemed to recognize that he was not speaking freely, but she respected him enough and didn’t press.

  Instead, she checked her watch.

  “We should head back up. See if Gray has attempted to make any contact.”

  Vigor nodded. He stared back one more time, pointed his flashlight across the space. It reflected off the glass surfaces: the floor and the embedded plates in the wall. He pointed it up. More reflections glittered, jeweled ornaments in a giant tree of knowledge.

  There was an answer here.

  He needed to find it before it was too late.

  5:28 A.M.

  OVER FRANCE

  WHY AREN'T they answering?

  Gray sat with the jet’s air-phone fixed to his ear. He was trying to raise Kat. But so far with no luck. Maybe it was the storm, interfering with the signal. The plane bucked and rolled through spats of lightning and sonorous rumbles of thunder.

  He sat near the back of the cabin for privacy. The others, strapped to their seats, were still deep in discussion.

  Only Rachel glanced back periodically, concerned to hear about her uncle. But maybe it was more. Since their rescue in Lausanne, she’d never been more than a step away from him. She still refused to discuss in detail what had happened at the castle. A haunted quality hung about her. And since then, it was as if she sought some solidity from him. Not to cling to—that wasn’t her. It was more simple reassurance, grounding herself in the moment. No words were needed.

  And while Monk had also been severely traumatized, Gray knew they’d eventually talk. They were soldiers-in-arms, best friends. They would work through it.

  But Gray didn’t have that patience with Rachel. A part of him wanted an immediate solution and answer to what troubled her. Any attempt to discuss what had happened at Lausanne had so far been rebuffed, gently but firmly. Still, he read the pain in her eyes. And as much as his heart ached, all he could do was stand beside her, wait until she was ready to speak.

  At his ear, the phone’s incessant ring finally stopped as the other line was picked up. “Bryant here.”

  Thank God. Gray sat straighter. “Kat, it’s Gray.”

  The others in the cabin turned toward him.

  “We have Rachel and Monk,” he said. “How is everything over there?”

  Kat’s voice, usually so stoic, rang with relief. “We’re fine. We’ve found the secret entry.” She went on to briefly explain all they’d discovered. Occasionally the transmission broke up and he missed a word here and there, due to the storm.

  Gray noted Rachel’s intense stare at him and nodded his head to her. Her uncle was fine.

  She closed her eyes in gratitude and sank back to her seat.

  Once Kat was finished, Gray gave a short account of events in Lausanne. “Barring any delay from the storm, we’ll be landing at Avignon Caumont Airport in about thirty minutes. But we don’t have much lead time on the Court. Maybe half an hour if we’re lucky.”

  Seichan had given them intel on the Court’s means of transportation. Raoul had a pair of planes stored in a small airfield half an hour outside of Lausanne. Calculating the airspeed of the Court’s planes, Gray knew they had a small lead on the Court. One he meant to keep.

  “With all teammates secure again,” Gray told Kat, “I’m going to break the silence with central command. Contact Director Crowe. I’ll have him coordinate ground support with the local authorities. I’ll call again as soon as we land. In the meantime, watch your back.”

  “Roger that, Commander. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  Gray hung up. He dialed the access number to Sigma command. It rang through a series of scrambled switchboards and finally connected.

  “Logan Gregory.”

  “Dr. Gregory, it’s Commander Pierce.”

  “Commander—” The irritation rang in the one word.

  Gray cut off an official scolding for his lack of communication. “I must speak to Painter Crowe immediately.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Commander. It’s nearly midnight here. The director left command about five hours ago. But no one knows where he went.” Aggravation clipped his words again, even harder-edged than his irritation at Gray.

  At least Gray understood the man’s frustration. What was the director doing leaving central command at a time like this?

  “He may have gone over to DARPA, to coordinate with Dr. McKnight,” Logan continued. “But I’m still ops leader for this mission. I want a full debriefing on your whereabouts.”

  Gray suddenly felt uncomfortable speaking. Where had Painter Crowe gone? Or was he even gone? Ice chilled through him. Was Gregory blocking him from reaching the director? Somewhere there was a leak at Sigma. Who could he believe?

  He weighed the odds—and did the only thing he could. Perhaps it was rash, but he had to go with his gut.

  He hung up the phone, disconnecting the line.

  He couldn’t risk it.

  He had a jump on Dragon Court. He wouldn’t give it away.

  5:35 A.M.

  EIGHTY AIR miles away, Raoul listened to his contact’s report over his plane’s radio. A grin slowly spread. “And they’re still in the Pope’s Palace?”

  “Yes, sir,” his spy said.

  “And you know where they are inside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Raoul had called from his castle upon learning of Avignon. He had coordinated with some local talent on the ground in Marseilles. They had been sent to Avignon to hunt down the two operatives: the monsignor and that Sigma bitch who had speared his hand. They had been successful.

  Raoul checked the plane’s clock. They would be landing in forty-four minutes.

  “We can take them out anytime,” his spy said.

  Raoul saw no need to delay. “Do it.”

  5:39 A.M.

  AVIGNON, FRANCE

  KAT’S LIFE was saved by a penny.

  Standing beside the firepit, she had been using the coin to pry open the battery compartment on her penlight. It flipped out of her fingers and to her toes. She bent to pick it up.

  The crack of the pistol coincided with a shatter of stone from the wall beside her head.

  Sniper.

  Still bent over, Kat shoulder-rolled to the floor, pulling out her holstered Glock. She landed on her back and fired between her knees toward the dark doorway where the shots had come from.

  She shot four times, a splay of fire to cover all angles.

  She heard a satisfying grunt and the clatter of a gun to stone. Something heavy followed with a thud.

  Rolling across the floor, she reached Vigor. The monsignor crouched near the top of the firepit tunnel. She handed him her gun. “Down,” she ordered. “Shoot anybody that comes into view.”

  “What about you?”

  “No, don’t shoot me.”

  “I mean where are you going?”

  “Hunting.” Kat had already extinguished their flashlights. She unhooked her night-vision goggles and pulled them over her eyes. “There might be more.” She freed a long steel blade from her belt.

  With Vigor tucked down his hole, Kat moved to the door and checked the passage. The world was all shades of green. Even the blood. It was the only movement in the hallway, spreading in a pool from the prone body.

  She sidled up to the man dressed in camouflage gear.

  Mercenary.

  Her shot had been lucky, clipping the man through the throat. She didn’t bother checking for a pulse. She grabbed his gun and crammed it into her own holster.

  Staying low, she worked from passage to hall to room, circling the kitchen area. If there were any others, they’d be near. The aborted gunplay would’ve sent them into hiding. Foolish. The
y placed too much faith in firepower, counting on the sniper to do the work for them.

  Kat worked the circuit efficiently. She came across no one.

  Right.

  She reached behind to the side pocket of her pack and removed the heavy plastic-wrapped package. She broke the seal with her thumb and lowered her hand to her hip.

  Twisting around a corner, she stepped into the single hallway that funneled back to the kitchen. She stood taller and strode confidently, marching ahead.

  Bait.

  She balanced the blade in her right hand. Her left emptied the contents of the package across the floor behind her.

  Rubberized ball bearings, coated with NPL Super Black.

  Invisible to night-vision.

  They littered the floor behind her, bouncing and rolling silently.

  She headed to the kitchen, her back to the bulk of the palace. She didn’t hear the second man’s approach, but she heard his tumbled step behind her.

  Dropping and twisting, she pivoted on a knee and threw her dagger with all the strength of her shoulder and skill of her wrist. It flew with deadly accuracy, piercing straight through the man’s mouth, open in surprise as his right heel slipped on one of the rubber bearings. His gun went off, the shot high, digging into the timbered rafters.

  Then he was on his back, convulsing, pithed through the base of his skull.

  Kat crossed to him, staying low, skating through the ball bearings.

  By the time she reached him, he lay still. She yanked out her knife, confiscated his weapon, and retreated back to the kitchen. She waited another two full minutes for any sign of a third or fourth assassin.

  The palace remained quiet.

  Thunder rumbled in greater intensity beyond the walls. A series of blinding lightning flashes came through the high windows. The full brunt of the storm crashed across the high hill.

  Finally confident they were alone, Kat called the all-clear to Vigor. He climbed back into view.

  “Stay there,” she warned in case she was wrong.

  She crossed back to the first body and searched it. As she feared, she found a cell phone.

  Damn.

  She sat there a moment, his cell phone in her hand. If the kill order had been given to the assassins, she knew for sure that their position in the palace must have been already relayed.

  Kat returned to Vigor. She checked her watch.

  “The Court knows where we are,” Vigor said, also assessing the situation.

  Kat saw no reason to acknowledge the obvious. She freed her own cell phone. Commander Pierce needed to know. She dialed the number he had left, but she failed to pick up a signal. She tried closer to the window. No luck.

  The storm had knocked out reception.

  At least to the jet in the air.

  She pocketed the phone.

  “Maybe once they land,” Vigor said, recognizing her failed attempt. “But if the Dragon Court knows we’re here, our headway just got narrower.”

  “What do you propose?” Kat asked.

  “We gain it back.”

  “How?”

  Vigor pointed to the dark stairs. “We still have twenty minutes until Gray and the others get here. Let’s put it to use. We’ll solve the riddle below, so once they arrive, we’re ready to act.”

  Kat nodded at the logic. Plus it was the only way to make up for her lapse. She should never have allowed the spies to get so close.

  “Let’s do it.”

  6:02 A.M.

  GRAY HURRIED with the others across the storm-swept tarmac. They had landed at the Avignon Caumont Airport only five minutes ago. He had to give Cardinal Spera credit…or at least his Vatican influence. Customs was cleared in the air, and a BMW sedan waited to ferry them to the Pope’s Palace. The cardinal had also left and gone into the terminal, to raise the local authorities. The Pope’s Palace had to be locked down.

  That is, after they reached there, of course.

  Gray ran with his cell phone, attempting to reach Kat and Vigor.

  No answer.

  He checked his signal strength. Free of the plane, the reception was another bar stronger. So what was the problem?

  He let it ring and ring.

  Finally he gave up. The only answer lay at the palace. Drenched, they all climbed into the waiting sedan as a brilliant display cracked across the sky, illuminating Avignon, nestled along a silver stretch of the Rhône. The Pope’s Palace was visible, the highest point in the city.

  “Any luck?” Monk asked, nodding to the cell phone.

  “No.”

  “It could be the storm,” Seichan said.

  No one was convinced.

  Gray had attempted to get Seichan to stay behind at the airport. He wanted only those he fully trusted at his side. But Cardinal Spera had insisted she go, placing full faith in his contract with the Guild. And Seichan reminded Gray of his own contract between them. She had agreed to rescue Monk and Rachel in order to exact her revenge upon Raoul. She had met her end of the bargain. Gray had to meet his.

  Rachel took the driver’s seat.

  Not even Monk objected.

  But his partner kept his shotgun on his lap, pointed at Seichan. Taking no chances either. The weapon had been recovered by Cardinal Spera in the Scavi below St. Peter’s. Monk seemed relieved to have it returned, more than his own hand.

  With everyone seated, Rachel whipped the car around and headed away from the airport, aiming for the city. She took the narrow streets at breakneck speeds. At this early hour with a fierce storm blowing, there was little other traffic. They flew up some steep grades that had become rivers and planed around corners.

  A few minutes later, Rachel wheeled them into the square before the palace. She side-swiped into a pile of chairs. Streamers of lights, now dark, draped the plaza. It looked like an abandoned party, waterlogged and deserted.

  They piled out of the vehicle.

  Rachel led the way to the main entrance, having been here before. She rushed them through a gateway, to a courtyard, then to a side door, the one Kat had mentioned.

  Gray found the latch sawed off and the locking mechanism ripped out.

  Not the fine handiwork of a former intelligence officer.

  Someone else had broken inside.

  Gray waved everyone back. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”

  “Not to be insubordinate,” Monk said. “But I’m not into the whole separating thing again. That didn’t work out so well last time.”

  “I’m coming,” Rachel said.

  “And I don’t believe you have authority over my comings and goings,” Seichan said.

  Gray didn’t have time to argue—especially if he couldn’t win.

  They set off into the palace. Gray had memorized the layout. He scouted ahead in a series of steps, cautious but swift. After coming upon the first body, he slowed. Dead. Already cooling.

  He checked. Okay, this was the handiwork of a former intelligence officer. He moved on and almost landed on his face as his heel slipped on a rubber ball bearing. He caught himself with a hand against the wall.

  Definitely Kat toys.

  They continued, shuffling through the bearings.

  Another body lay near the entrance to the kitchen. They had to step through the pool of blood to get inside.

  Voices reached him. He held the others to the hallway and eavesdropped.

  “We’re already late,” a voice said.

  “I’m sorry. I had to be sure. All the angles needed to be checked.”

  Kat and Vigor. In mid-argument. Their voices echoed up from a hole in the center of the kitchen. A glow grew brighter, bobbling a bit.

  “Kat,” Gray called out, not wanting to startle his teammate. He had seen enough of her skill splayed in the halls here. “It’s Gray.”

  The light went out.

  Kat appeared a moment later, gun ready, pointed toward him.

  “It’s safe,” Gray said.

  Kat climbed out. Gray waved the others
into the room.

  Vigor emerged next from the hole.

  Rachel rushed to him. He opened his arms and hugged her tight.

  Kat spoke first and nodded to the bloody hallway. “The Dragon Court knows about this location.”

  Gray agreed. “Cardinal Spera is rousing the local authorities right now. They should be here soon.”

  Vigor kept one arm around his niece. “Then we may have just enough time.”

  “For what?” Gray asked.

  “To unlock the true treasure below.”

  Kat nodded. “We solved the riddle here.”

  “And what’s the answer?” Gray asked.

  Vigor’s eyes brightened. “Light.”

  6:14 A.M.

  HE COULDN’T wait any longer.

  From the terminal concourse of the tiny airport, Cardinal Spera had spied on the group as they departed in the BMW sedan. He waited five minutes as the commander had requested, giving the team time to reach the palace. He stood up and crossed to one of the armed security personnel, a blond young man in uniform.

  In French, he asked to be taken to the man’s on-duty superior. He showed him his Vatican identification. “It is a matter of utmost urgency.”

  The guard’s eyes widened, recognizing who stood before him.

  “Of course, Cardinal Spera. Right away.”

  The young man led him off the concourse and through a card-coded security gate. Down at the end of a hall lay the office of the head of airport security. The guard knocked and was gruffly called inside.

  He pushed the door, holding it open. Looking back to the cardinal, the guard failed to see the pistol with a silencer raised toward the back of his head.

  Cardinal Spera lifted a hand. “No…”

  The gunshot sounded like a firm cough. The guard’s head snapped forward, followed by his body. Blood sprayed into the hallway.