“You’re thinking he might have hidden something there,” Gray said.
“According to the historical record, he became obsessed with the place, living his final years there. He even insisted upon being buried at the sanctuary.”
“Was he buried there?” Lena asked.
“Strangely enough, only his heart.” Roland glanced around, letting the significance sink in. “Even a pope back then, Pope Innocent XIII, requested that his heart be buried there, too.”
Something was clearly important about that place.
Gray picked up the old key on the table, running his thumb over the arch of skulls along its bow end, remembering the bones stolen by Father Kircher.
I’d definitely call this a skeleton key.
“It’s worth looking into,” Seichan admitted. He saw the glimmer of desire in her face, to be moving again rather than sitting here waiting for instructions. “We could be in Rome in less than two hours.”
He was tempted—and he wasn’t the only one.
“I’m willing to go,” Roland said, which was no surprise. “You could use my expertise.”
“And I’m going, too,” Lena said, which was a surprise.
Gray was about to object, but Lena stood before the fire, looking resolute.
“Someone stole those bones from that cavern here,” she said. “And we all know it wasn’t because of the black market value of such relics. Especially considering the coordination of the attack here and outside of Atlanta.” Her voice caught a bit as she plainly thought about her sister, but she pressed on. “There has to be some significant genetic value to those bones. I had only a brief look, but I could tell there was something off about the conformation of the skull. If I could get a better look—”
“She’s right.” Roland shifted closer to her, backing her up physically and with his words. “If we could find out where Father Kircher took the other set of bones, we might know better the reason behind the attack. I believe Father Kircher discovered something significant in those caves, and it may take someone with a greater understanding of Neanderthals and early man to discover it again.”
“They’re both right,” Seichan conceded with a shrug. “We’re missing something about all of this. And in the meantime, there’s little we can do to help with Painter’s operation in China.”
Gray refused to relent, even outnumbered as he was now. He had his assignment to keep Lena safe.
The geneticist must have read this thought. “No one would suspect I’d be traveling to Rome,” she pressed. Her eyes now held a similar glint as Seichan’s, a shine of impatience and determination. “Plus I’m not about to sit idly by and do nothing while Maria’s still in danger.”
Before Gray could respond, his satellite phone chirped, ringing with the familiar tone for Sigma command. He answered it and heard Painter Crowe’s voice.
“Commander Pierce, I’ve got your extraction arranged. A contact with the Croatian air force will get you all aboard a military transport headed—”
He cut the director off, eyeing the group standing before the fire. “Sir, there’s been a change in plans.”
7:22 A.M.
The man sat inside a small coffeehouse. He held a folded copy of a newspaper in front of him, but his eyes remained fixed through the window. Across Saint Catherine’s Square stood a Baroque church of the same name, its white facade aglow in the morning sunlight. It was one of dozens of Catholic buildings across the religious city. Even from here, he could spy the twin spires of Zagreb’s Gothic cathedral cutting into the bright sky.
Another two men had been posted at that larger structure, along with others at the international airport and the city’s train station.
The places of Catholic worship were watched because of word that a priest had been among the party who had entered the caves yesterday. It was unknown whether the man or the American woman had ever escaped those mountains, but Zhōngxiào Sun had been adamant that the capital city be locked down, watched for any sign of survivors.
He did not resent the orders. A fire burned in his belly as he remembered his teammates who had died up in those mountains. Their blood called for vengeance.
Movement drew his attention away from the church to a neighboring art gallery. It was too early for the place to be opening already. From a tourist brochure he had read while waiting here, the Klovićevi Dvori Gallery was once the former monastery for Saint Catherine’s. Moments earlier, a black sedan had parked near the entrance. Its engine still idled, with exhaust steaming from the tailpipe.
A clutch of four figures hurried through the gallery door to the waiting sedan. He spotted a woman among them, her blond hair a flag amid the dark clothes. When the passenger door opened, he spotted the driver inside, wearing a Croatian air force uniform.
His heart quickened at the sight, certainty settling coldly over him.
He kept his newspaper raised and picked up his cell phone from the table and tapped one button as he brought it to his ear. Once the connection was made, he spoke.
“Zhōngxiào Sun, I have found them.”
11
April 30, 2:05 P.M. CST
Airborne over the East China Sea
The cabin steward leaned down with a tray holding a row of steaming cloths, meticulously folded into cranes. “We’ll be landing in Beijing in less than an hour, if you’d like to freshen up.”
Monk reached over and pinched up one of the napkins, the fingertips of his prosthetic hand registering the damp heat. “Thank you.”
“And for your wife?” the steward extended the tray.
Monk turned to his traveling companion. “Dear?”
“Búyào xièxie,” the woman politely declined, waving a palm in dismissal.
As the steward left, Monk patted his face with the steaming heat, letting it warm away some of his exhaustion.
“Is this how you usually travel?” the woman asked, smiling, lifting her dark eyes and using the back of her fingers to tuck away a fall of ebony hair from her handsome heart-shaped face. “If so, I may have to reconsider Kat’s offer to join your organization.”
He shrugged. “Unfortunately, our more common method of travel is usually tied up in the trunk of a car.”
Kimberly Moy was the same age as Monk, but her beauty had a timelessness that made her appear much younger—which, considering their cover as husband and wife, was not exactly helping.
Still, it made the long trip all that much more tolerable.
Sorry, Kat.
His actual wife was back in D.C., coordinating efforts with Director Crowe at Sigma. Kat had recommended Kimberly Moy for this operation. They’d been friends back in their days at the U.S. Naval Academy. Kimberly eventually joined the Defense Intelligence Agency, but the two remained close allies within that clandestine world of U.S. security. Kat had vouched for her friend’s skills. Beyond the woman’s fluency with every dialect of mainland China, she was also a crack shot with a sniper rifle and experienced at hand-to-hand combat, besting most men in her agency.
Kimberly reclined her seat farther back. “I could get accustomed to this.”
They were aboard a silver-winged Boeing 757, which had been converted by the Four Seasons resorts into a first-class accommodation of just fifty-two seats, only half of which were currently occupied. The itinerary for this semiprivate flight covered eight countries over twenty-four days. Kat had arranged for them to board the plane in Tokyo for the hop to Beijing, supporting their cover as a pair of rich Americans on a world tour.
For the moment, they had the rear of the plane to themselves.
Monk stared down at his satellite phone, which showed a map of China’s coastline. Painter kept the device updated with the most current GPS feed from Baako’s wrist tracker. It looked like the signal had settled at China’s capital, but they were watching to see if it remained in Beijing or moved on yet again.
Monk and Kimberly’s role was as a forward expeditionary force, to narrow down where the kidnappers m
ight have taken Maria, Kowalski, and Baako. An extraction team was already en route, following on their heels via various itineraries, waiting for an order to assemble and attempt a rescue.
Monk’s phone vibrated with a new incoming message. It was from Painter. He scanned through it, beginning to sense the scope of their challenge ahead. The note related all that Sigma had learned about Dr. Amy Wu, the National Science Foundation researcher who had orchestrated that ambush at the primate center. She was clearly a Chinese mole within the NSF, one who had burrowed herself as far as the White House’s science council.
Her motivation for such a betrayal remained murky. Amy Wu was a fourth-generation American, an unlikely target to be co-opted by China’s political ideology. Even a search of her records and correspondence showed no support for communism. Still, Sigma’s financial forensics did reveal a trail of money running from Beijing through Wu’s office and out to various scientific projects.
Makes no sense.
He handed the phone to Kimberly to read through the report. Once done, she gave it back. She kept her voice low, even though there was no one seated within three rows of them, and those nearby were wearing headphones and listening to in-flight entertainment.
“We’ve been monitoring Chinese activity on U.S. shores for decades,” she said quietly. “The infiltration of their moles and spies goes well beyond the nuisance hacking that’s been reported in the news. There are Chinese students in graduate and postdoctoral programs across the United States, in every technological and scientific field. They learn skills here and return to the mainland, where that knowledge is often used against us.”
“Why are we allowing that?”
“Good question. The simplest answer is that we don’t have enough U.S. graduates who are qualified to fill all of our PhD programs. Currently half the physics doctorates from U.S. universities are awarded to foreign nationals, most of whom take their diplomas and return home. In some regard, it could almost be considered foreign aid, as much of their education is underwritten by the American taxpayer—through grants for research, financial assistance, not to mention all the tax breaks given to colleges and universities.”
“So not only are we giving them this knowledge to take abroad, we’re paying for it.”
“Some argue that it may be beneficial in the long run.”
“How’s that?”
“It can serve as a way of spreading American capitalism, business practices, even educational norms abroad. The downside risk, of course, is that we’re creating our own market competitors. Scientists and engineers ultimately drive innovation—and we’re shipping that intellectual capital abroad.”
Monk was beginning to understand why Kat had picked Kimberly for this mission. The woman certainly knew her stuff.
“As an example,” she said, “there was a Chinese student sequestered for years at Harvard, working with the best of our geneticists and bioengineers. She recently returned to Shanghai and took what she’d learned to ends considered unethical in most Western countries.”
“What did she do?”
“She started a program to genetically alter human embryos.” Kimberly leaned back with a sad shake of her head. “Such procedures are already banned in over forty countries—and for good reason. Such research could be construed as a first step on the road to eugenics, using science to engineer a better human. We’re talking about inserting inheritable traits into the human gene pool, not only forever corrupting it, but risking a future where there will be a new class of people—those engineered to be superior.”
Monk frowned. “Do you think such a goal could have motivated this current attack? Amy Wu was channeling funds into the Crandall sisters’ research in the genetic origin of human intelligence.”
“Hard to say. But in regards to Dr. Wu, I do suspect her loyalty was not motivated by political ideology, but by the pure pursuit of science. Research today has become more about seeing if something can be done versus judging if it should. It’s knowledge for the sake of knowledge, regardless of the impact on the world.”
Monk remembered Amy Wu’s earlier comment regarding this subject of genetic engineering: We certainly couldn’t authorize this study using human embryos. Not without raising a firestorm of protests. For her, steering clear of such research wasn’t about the ethics of right or wrong, only about the fear of getting caught.
His phone vibrated again. A glance revealed a new text message from Painter.
SIGNAL DROPPED OFF.
TRACKER EITHER DISCOVERED OR LOST POWER.
LAST KNOWN LOCATION BEING SENT NOW.
Monk returned to the map and zoomed down upon the marked location glowing on the street grid of Beijing. Its path had stopped at a stretch of green parkland.
Leaning over, Kimberly stared down at the screen. “That’s the grounds of the Beijing Zoo.”
Monk nodded. Considering the enemy had a kidnapped gorilla with them, the setting made practical sense.
“What do we do next?” Kimberly asked.
He glanced up at her. “My dear wife, it looks like we’ll be paying a visit to those famous Chinese pandas.”
2:22 P.M.
Maria ducked under the whirling blades of the helicopter. The aircraft had ferried them from a military airfield outside of Beijing to a helipad alongside a wide river. The waterway curved past, overhung by a row of weeping willows. She had watched their approach while they descended, noting the parklands that spread to the south and recognizing cages, pens, and other large buildings. Along a maze of winding walkways, crowds of people roamed and strolled.
An animal park . . . likely the Beijing Zoo.
Once clear of the helicopter’s rotors, she stretched a kink from her back. Kowalski drew alongside her, his face fixed in a perpetual scowl.
“Place stinks,” he said.
She agreed. The air smelled of exhaust smoke. The city’s skyscrapers across the river were sunk in a hazy yellowish fog. She had read about the air pollution problems in Beijing, but she had never imagined it was this bad. Her eyes already stung, and she had to cover her mouth to mask a deep cough.
“Keep moving,” a voice commanded behind them.
She turned to face the tall, waspish form of the group’s leader. While en route, she had learned his name was Gao, but she didn’t know if that was his first name or last. He looked to be in his midthirties. His black hair was cut to the scalp around his ears but kept longer across the top.
Beyond his shoulders, a small forklift retreated from the rear hatch of the military transport helicopter. It carried aloft the cage holding Baako. He clutched the bars, staring toward her, his eyes scared, his lips pursed as he hooted at her for help, but she couldn’t hear him over the roar of the aircraft’s engines.
She took a step toward him but was blocked by Gao.
“Go,” he said sternly, reinforcing his command with a pointed pistol.
The same weapon that killed Jack, she reminded herself. Fury at the cold-blooded murder of her student burned inside her chest. One fist balled up in frustration. She fixed her gaze on that bastard, letting him see her anger.
Kowalski gripped her arm and forced her to turn away and keep moving. “Another time,” he grumbled under his breath. It sounded like a promise.
She let herself be led across an apron of concrete. She searched ahead, trying to get her bearings. Off in the distance rose a large arch-roofed building. A giant mural peeked above the tree line, displaying an ocean scene of cavorting seals, killer whales, and dolphins.
An aquarium . . .
But their destination was closer at hand: a nondescript concrete-block building rising two stories, its flat roof crowded with satellite dishes and antennas. A large door on the side trundled upward, revealing a freight elevator.
The forklift bearing Baako’s cage whisked past them and maneuvered fully into the waiting space. Maria quickened her pace to keep up.
“Not you,” Gao ordered and stepped past her. He pointed toward Kow
alski. “You go with gorilla. Keep it calm.”
Kowalski glanced to her. It seemed their ruse that he was Baako’s caretaker continued to remain intact.
To maintain it, she gave Kowalski a small nod. “Do what you can to keep him from getting too frightened.”
He lifted one eyebrow, his question plain. Who, me?
“Baako will need a familiar face, someone he knows,” she pressed.
Even if it’s someone he met only briefly.
But Baako was smart. He knew she trusted Kowalski, and the familiarity of the big man’s presence should offer him a small amount of comfort, especially in such a strange environment. Hopefully Kowalski could keep Baako from panicking. She feared for his care, remembering how their captors had used an electric cattle prod on him. She didn’t want Baako abused any further.
This thought raised a larger fear as she watched his cage being loaded inside the elevator. What did they want with him . . . or her?
Kowalski must have read the anxiety in her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after the little guy.”
Without thinking, she lunged forward and hugged him. His body stiffened in surprise, but then relaxed. His arms encircled her and squeezed, showing a tenderness that belied his brutish exterior. She found the heat of his body, the muscular strength of his embrace, far more reassuring than his words.
“Go!” Gao shouted at them. He poked his pistol into Kowalski’s ribs.
Kowalski let her loose and glowered at Gao, hard enough that the Chinese soldier backed up a step.
Gao shifted his gaze to her instead. “You come with me.”
Another soldier bearing a rifle forced Kowalski toward the freight elevator. Maria was led toward a smaller door to the side.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked Gao.
“To see Major General Lau. To see if you will live.”
2:45 P.M.
How far down are we going?
From the lurch in his stomach, Kowalski knew the elevator was descending underground, but he had no way of gauging how deep. He counted a full fifteen seconds before the car finally settled to a stop. He waited next to Baako’s cage, which was still carried by the forklift. Four armed guards shared the elevator, too many for him to overpower and fight his way free.